15 minutes
by elbafo
Summary: A series of encounters - sexual and not - between Sherlock and a prostitute. What if Sherlock was tired of his brother's jibes about his lack of sexual experiences? What if Sherlock took offence at being called 'The Virgin? Sherlock sets out to lose his virginity, finding something else in the process. Starts partway thru series 2. CURRENTLY ON HIATUS AWAITING SERIES 3!
1. Chapter 1: The Deed

**Chapter 1 - The Deed**

"I want to lose my virginity," the tall, slim, dark-haired man informed Rose.

"And how would you like to do that?" she asked seductively.

Sherlock regarded the young, petite, chestnut haired prostitute for a moment.

"You tell me," he replied eventually. "You're the professional."

He remained standing by the door, with his hands thrust comfortably in his trouser pockets.

"Would you like to sit down?" she indicated a comfortable armchair by the window, and another by the bed.

Sherlock strode over to the chair by the window.

"Do you have any fantasies?" she asked, sitting down on the bed, nearest Sherlock's armchair.

"Fantasies?"

"What turns you on?"

"Turns me on?"

Rose tried to get a handle on her client's profile. Virgin, yes. He'd said as much. This guy really needed a lot of prompting. Why was he even here? 'John' he said his name was.

"What gives you an erection?" she asked simply.

"Manual stimulation."

"Okay. Would you like me to start with that? Or would you like to look at me first?"

"I am looking at you."

_Dear God!_

"Naked."

"Oh. If you like," he waved his hand dismissively. "We both need to end up like that eventually I assume."

_Thank God he knew that much!_

Rose slowly removed her dressing gown, while Sherlock propped one elbow up on the armrest. He rested his chin on his fingers, frowning slightly. Rose then seductively slipped her camisole straps from her shoulders, giving 'John' her best wanton stare as the garment dropped to the floor. She received nothing in the way of an expression in return from him.

"Do you always disrobe this slowly?" he asked abruptly.

Rose managed a smile.

"Am I too slow for you?"

"I thought the point was you showing me your naked body. As I only have 15 minutes you may like to speed things up a bit?"

Rose then set about quickly removing her knickers in a slightly less elegant manner. Sherlock continued to stare impassively at her.

"Shall I lie on the bed, or would you like to touch me?"

Sherlock shrugged. "What would you recommend?"

"How about both? I'll lie down here, and you can touch me."

Rose lay down on the bed, and shifted over to the middle as Sherlock stood up. He noticed Rose glancing quickly at his trousers.

"Should I take my clothes off?" he asked, stopping by the bed.

"Would you like to?"

He looked irritable. "Could you stop asking me things and just tell me what to do."

_Oh_, thought Rose, _now he has a preference. That should make things slightly easier._

"Take your clothes off and lie down next to me," she said, patting the bed. "Do you feel aroused looking at my body?"

"I see a nude female body. It's not like I haven't seen one before," he replied taking off his jacket and placing it neatly over the chair he had just vacated.

"So you're not even slightly erect yet?" the question slipped out before Rose even thought about it. Such a question to a client would be frowned upon. Her current client, however, didn't seem to mind.

"If this is your attempt at visual stimulation then you've failed. Is this what they teach you?"

His nimble fingers hastily undid the buttons on his shirt.

Rose laughed again, in spite of herself.

"What if I touch myself?" she asked, finally composing herself, back on script again.

Sherlock shrugged again, slipping his shirt off, and placing it neatly on top of his jacket.

Rose lay back, and began the process of caressing her body, while watching 'John'. He gazed at her, his features only mildly amused. Rose stopped, narrowing her own eyes. She wasn't brand new at this part-time job of hers, but she was still fascinated by 'John's' unique responses, or lack thereof.

"You know, you're a bit like a child," she blurted out, then she bit her tongue. "I'm sorry, forget I said that."

"Why should I forget you said that? You said it," he replied, unbuckling his belt, then unzipping his fly.

"It's not an acceptable comment to a client."

Sherlock chuckled. They had directives. He was curious.

"Why am I like a child?"

"Here let me help you," Rose said, kneeling up on the bed and putting her hands on either side of Sherlock's boxers.

"I can mange," he said, stepping backwards. "If I'd let you undress me at the same speed at which you undress yourself we'll well and truly take up all of the 15 minutes."

Rose laughed again. This guy was rude but funny.

"So, why am I like a child?" he asked again.

Rose hesitated, not sure if she should answer him. But then again, he wasn't like a regular client. He didn't seem to take offense at the comments she theoretically wasn't allowed to make. He didn't seemed to mind this frank conversation.

"Because a child doesn't see a naked body in a sexualised way. They haven't reached the developmental stage where hormones and experience make their body react sexually either consciously or subconsciously."

"So you think I haven't had the necessary experience to view your naked body in a sexualised way?"

"Or to become aroused at the mere suggestion of having sex with me." She couldn't believe she was having this conversation. Meanwhile, her client was standing before her completely naked, and not aroused one bit.

Rose lay back down on the bed again. She patted the mattress beside her and said, "Now lie down."

"Do you think this experience will change that?" Sherlock asked, lying down beside her.

"Do you want it to?"

"I'm asking your professional opinion."

"Possibly."

"Don't they teach you these things?"

Rose propped her head up, resting on one elbow. "There isn't a school for prostitutes you know."

"Well why are you so versed in child psychology then?"

"Because I'm a..." then she stopped. No personal details allowed. "Let's just do this, yeah? You want to lose your virginity...let's get started."

Rose sat up and gently caressed Sherlock's chest, taking in his nipples, then slowly navigating to his navel. Sherlock tutted and looked at his watch. Rose looked at him incredulously.

"Faster?" she asked, feeling mildly amused.

"Moving right along to the part where we have sex."

"You need to be erect first."

"Then you need to place your hand around my penis."

Rose stifled a laugh. She might just surprise him. She bent over him and gently took his penis in her mouth, running her tongue around the tip.

_Fuck_! Sherlock gasped.

At last! His first textbook reaction!

Rose continued working, paying attention to Sherlock's breathing and the noticeable silence brought by his inability to speak. She felt in control again, thank goodness.

Sherlock moaned. He was fully aroused now, so Rose slowly moved to kiss around his navel, working slowly back up along his torso to his chest, while she purposefully slid her body over his. Sherlock responded by bringing his hands up to hold her hips.

"There," she whispered, "Now we're ready."

Sherlock stared up at her, a new longing in his eyes, his lips parted slightly. Rose was straddling his body, but she had to reach over him to retrieve a condom from the side table. She was about to ask _Would you like me to put it on for you,_ when she thought the better of it. Just do it.

She started rubbing Sherlock with her hand, as his breath grew ragged and he started caressing her back.

_Another response. Good,_ she thought. _We're making progress._

While massaging Sherlock's testicles, Rose slipped the condom over the end of his penis and rolled it down, then she straddled him again.

"Ready?" she whispered.

He nodded silently.

Rose lowered herself onto Sherlock's shaft while he let out an audible moan. He held onto Rose's hips as she started with a slow rhythm.

_I wonder if he considers this too slow?_ she thought.

"Good?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"Mmm," he nodded.

Rose maintained eye contact with Sherlock's half closed eyes. She noted he had not relaxed completely. She would usually touch herself at this point, but she remembered that 'John' had nearly laughed at her efforts, so she started moaning, and whispering things to him, about his size, his prowess in bed - her "script", while she moved on top of him. He held his hands to her waist, as if to stop her. His brow was drawn down in thought.

"What are you doing?" he asked, staring at her intently.

"I'm...we're having..."

"Not that. Your words, and... sounds. You're not enjoying yourself. You're not aroused. Stop pretending you are."

"Right," Rose said, feeling quite disconcerted.

"Your pupils," Sherlock offered by way of explanation, "They're not dilated, and you're heart rate hasn't increased at all."

He showed her how he was holding her wrist, feeling her pulse.

"Whereas mine," he moved her hand palm down onto his chest, above his heart, "has increased significantly."

"I'll stop... then."

"I detest theatrical performances."

_More preferences. He's learning to articulate his likes and dislikes during sex. That was good_, thought Rose. She continued her rhythm, moving slightly faster now. It seemed a little repetitive to her, but he had dismissed all her optional extras, so this would have to do.

"Close your eyes," she said.

"Why?" he all but whispered in response.

"So you can concentrate on what I feel like, without the visual distraction."

He did what she asked, without argument this time, to her relief. He seemed to like explanations, not fluffy statements, which was good. Rose was never one for poetry.

Rose saw that the tension had left 'John's' face. He was now moving his body under her, and encouraging her movements with his hands on her hips. His head titled up slightly, small moans escaping from his lips.

His hands were all over her now, pulling at her, urging her. She knew what he needed now, but perhaps he may want to take control of the situation? It _was_ his first time after all.

"You get on top now," she commanded, climbing off him and moving aside. She thought he'd appreciate the direct order instead of the "Would you like to..." request.

Sherlock silently obliged, turning over and propping himself up on his elbows. With Rose's guidance, he was inside her once again, this time in complete control of how hard and how fast. Rose noted that he tried to keep his body away from hers - not put any weight on her.

His breath came in shorter gasps now, and she could just hear the start of a moan, signalling the beginning of the end. She encouraged him along, with the rhythm of her hips and hands, but not her voice, now she knew he had a preference for silence.

Sherlock knew what was happening - the sensation not unlike masturbation. He just needed to increase his speed, and he was glad 'Shelley' was assisting him in this task. He held his breath, he was there, senses heightened, poised on the edge.

Rose felt him tense and gasp, not a shouter, thank goodness, and he rode it out in silence, a groan now and then, his shallow breathing beside her neck. Rose felt odd about not having to fake her own orgasm. She imagined the look he would give her if she started that shit.

He collapsed onto her, then feeling completely self-conscious about the intimacy of contact, he rolled off her.

"That was... that was..." his chest rising and falling, "far more aerobic than just masturbation."

Rose smiled to herself. She liked him. He was honest and funny and intelligent. And she wasn't covered in his drool or sweat. Bonus.

"There's some tissues on the table and a rubbish bin below it if you'd like to..."

"Oh," Sherlock replied sitting up with his back to her. He finished cleaning himself up then looked at his watch.

"Good," he said, his voice echoing his usual efficient and business-like manner.

He got up off the bed, which Rose took as a signal that she must also, and started dressing.

"Congratulations," she said, retrieving her own clothes from the floor. "How does it feel to not be a virgin anymore?"

"Ridiculous label," he commented, putting on his underwear with his back to Rose. "Unless you've never masturbated before, the end result is still the same. What you use as friction should be irrelevant. Probably different for your lot," he added, waving his hand at Rose but not looking at her.

"I...guess," Rose responded, this time resisting the urge to laugh out loud. Friction! She was friction!

That was a new one.

He turned back around to face her, while buttoning up his shirt. He narrowed his eyes at her. "So what do you do now? Wash yourself to prepare for the next guy?"

"Usually," she replied, grinning at 'John's' direct question. "But tonight's a slow night. Tuesday's often are. I was only called in when you...rang."

She wrapped her dressing gown around her.

"Do you do this all day long?" he asked, innocently, grabbing his trousers from the chair.

"Uh, no."

"Just nights?"

"Some."

He looked at her suspiciously as he pulled his trousers on. Then he looked around the room.

"This isn't your room then. Not even personalised."

"No, it suits a purpose."

He slowly looked her up and down, something he didn't do when he first came in, Rose reflected.

"Student?"

Rose was taken aback.

"No," she lied.

Sherlock paused while he was grabbing his jacket, surprised at her deliberate attempt to deceive him, not that her profession seemed to lend itself to honesty.

"You don't fit the demographic," he began. "You're not a migrant, a drug user or on the poverty line. You sound well-educated and the press recently reported a dramatic increase in students turning to prostitution to meet the costs of their tuition."

Rose tried to hide her alarm at Sherlock's statement by saying, "For my own safety I can't really tell you any personal details about myself. You'll just have to be satisfied with the fact that my name is 'Shelley' and I am a sex worker."

Sherlock/John grinned. This surprised Rose.

"80 pounds wasn't it?" he asked, shrugging on his jacket and retrieving his wallet from it.

"Yes, thank you."

"Do I give you a tip?"

"If you like."

"On what basis?"

Rose grinned. "If I've exceeded your expectations."

Sherlock thought for a moment. "Well, I expected to have sex with you, which we did, so..."

"Okay," Rose smiled. "You didn't enjoy yourself more than you thought you would?"

"Well, the sex fulfilled my expectations, but the conversation was surprisingly stimulating."

"I don't think anyone has ever given me a tip for the conversation before," Rose replied, her eyes sparkling just a little.

"Here," said Sherlock, handing her a one hundred pound note, "Perhaps if you stopped lying about everyone's sexual prowess while you were fucking them, they might tip you more. Goodbye!"


	2. Chapter 2: The Analysis

**Chapter 2: The Analysis**

"Hello again, John," Rose said pleasantly, opening the door for Sherlock.

He was grinning broadly at her.

"I just wanted to let you know that your hypothesis was correct!" he exclaimed striding in confidently.

"Hypothesis?" Rose asked, feeling confused and closing the door behind Sherlock.

"That sexual experience is a factor necessary for me to become aroused at the mere thought of having sex with you."

"You're aroused now?"

"Not now," he said, pacing in the small confines of the bedroom. "Earlier! I was sitting in my dressing gown yesterday when my flatmate threw down his newspaper in disgust at some comment I'd made about his latest date or whatever, when an article about student loans caught my eye. Before I knew it, my thoughts had drifted to you, and what you did with your mouth. Next minute: erection!"

He eyed her triumphantly.

"That's...er...wonderful, John!"

Sherlock sank into the armchair by the window. "I just thought you should know, so that you'll have one piece of anecdotal evidence to draw upon should anyone in the future ask you for your professional opinion about sexual experiences and arousal."

"That's very kind of you. But.. ah... is that all you came here for? Because you've made an appointment," Rose briefly indicated the door, "and I'm going to have to charge you whether we have sex or not."

Sherlock agitatedly drummed his fingers on the armrest.

"Oh, yes," he said nonchalantly, "Same again. But not that play acting thing you were doing. That was irritating." He bent over to take his shoes and socks off.

Rose stifled a laugh and quickly shed her dressing gown, and remaining garments before Sherlock could notice her and comment about how slowly she was undressing. She lay on the bed, sliding over to the middle again, and watched Sherlock carefully placing his garments onto the armchair as he disrobed.

"How much do you earn per week?" he asked conversationally, removing his trousers.

"That's confidential," Rose replied.

"How much of the 80 pounds do you have to give Mark downstairs?"

"Again, confidential."

"25 percent? 30 percent?"

Rose smiled, refusing to answer, as Sherlock took off his boxers.

"Oh!" she said, her surprise genuine as she took in Sherlock's semi-arousal.

He looked at her proudly, then lay down on the bed.

"Was that because you saw me naked, or was it from the anticipation of sex?" Rose asked, turning to lie on her side.

Sherlock thought, brow furrowed in concentration. "Huh, I don't recall. I may have glanced at you while we were talking about other things and my subconscious triggered the reaction."

He tutted at this missed opportunity for study.

Rose sat up, and moved closer to him as he muttered more to himself than to her, "Hmm. A subconscious reaction wouldn't be acceptable at just any time of day, especially not when I'm working."

"Well, you're halfway there now. Do you still want me to...play?" she asked, smiling pleasantly.

Sherlock nodded, still lost in thought about inappropriate times during which to have an erection.

Rose briefly drifted her hand down Sherlock's chest, careful not to take too long, lest she earn Sherlock's disapproval, before her hand encircled his penis.

"And where do you work?" she asked.

"I'm..." Sherlock started, but was unable to finish, as Rose set to work once more.

Sherlock was much more relaxed this time - his thoughts alternating between purely appreciating the physical pleasure he was experiencing and analyzing just what effect these experiences would have on his composure in the future.

Once he'd found he was fully aroused, he simply said, "I'm ready."

Rose looked up. "I can keep doing this if you like?"

"No," he said, sliding upwards and reaching for the condom Rose had placed on the bedside table earlier. "Here," he said, handing her the packet.

Rose smiled warmly reflecting on the difference between 'John' this week and the 'John' she had met last week. He was also keen for her to start on top, commenting, "That was good what you were doing last time, just not that nonsense you were rabbiting on about."

Rose suppressed a laugh again.

This time Sherlock directed Rose as to when he was ready to swap positions, and he was slightly more vocal when he climaxed. Rose noticed that he stayed on top of her for a few seconds longer before rolling off.

"How was the friction for you this time?" Rose asked, feeling slightly mischievous.

He looked over to her, as he took short breaths in. "Satisfactory," he stated simply.

He lay his head back on the pillow, staring at the ceiling as Rose again rolled onto her side to talk to him.

"You were going to tell me where you worked before I rudely interrupted you."

Sherlock managed a small smile as he met her gaze.

"I'm self-employed," he said carefully.

"As what?"

"A consultant."

"For?"

"We'll leave the details for future conversations. How about that?" he said, smirking.

He sat up in order to clean up, then checked his watch.

"Oh, good. Much more efficient this time."

Once he'd finished, he lay back down on the bed and turned to Rose.

"You don't have to keep checking your watch," she advised him. "I have a timer with an alarm.

"Oh, I didn't hear it last time."

"You left one minute early. But don't worry, you have about 5 or 10 minutes grace, in case you're still naked when the alarm goes off."

"Has that ever happened with anyone?"

"Sometimes."

Sherlock tutted. "Morons."

Rose asked, "As we still have about eight more minutes, what would you like to talk about?"

Sherlock responded, "If I ask questions about you, you just shut up shop."

"Well that's..."

"For your own safety, I know," Sherlock finished for her.

"May I ask you a question?"

"That's all you ever do."

"It's my job to find out what you want. This is a service industry remember."

"So why are you asking permission to ask me a question?"

"Because it's more of a personal nature."

"So ask. If I don't want to answer the question I'll either lie or not say anything," he answered, grinning.

Rose laughed at the notion.

"Why did you want to lose your virginity? You don't seem like someone who really cares for sex, well not the intimacy of sex anyway. You seem to be satisfied with your happy ending, which you can obviously get from masturbating."

Sherlock remained pensive. Should he tell her the truth? His big, mean brother teased him? Some slutty blackmailer of royalty called him a virgin, as if it were a flaw? These words shouldn't have bothered him, but they did. And on an impulse one quiet Tuesday evening, while his flatmate was out, he decided to ring around the inner city brothels, make an appoinment, rid himself of the label, and gain some experience.

But why the subsequent visit, he asked himself. His flatmate was either dating someone, or on the lookout for someone to date. It was irritating to watch someone putting so much time and energy into trying to get off with the opposite sex.

Just what was the big deal about sex anyway?

Now that he'd had it, he could see some benefits, especially the part where you could just lie back and let someone else do all the work for you. And he'd only have to pay cash for it. He made one phone call and half an hour later he had an attractive young woman's mouth wrapped around his cock. John took weeks just to get the pleasure of buying some woman a meal and watching her eat it, while engaging in mundane conversations. Then he'd take two or three more weeks going to the cinema and watching movies he didn't enjoy, having lunch dates and walks in the park, more conversations which sounded dull in their entirety, and then, maybe then, he'd manage to 'get off' with whomever he was dating. And even then, he may not get the pleasure of an attractive woman sucking him off.

Ridiculous.

And don't even get Sherlock started on the number of lies John had to tell in order to wend his way through this dating maze of hell.

Pathetic.

Why was Sherlock paying for sex?

Because he could.

Because it was easy.

Because he enjoyed it.

Because he enjoyed...

...her.

The realisation that his last thought might have a small amount of truth to it made Sherlock dismiss it immediately. So, to Rose he answered, "Knowledge is power. Sex is an area I had no practical experience of. In my line of work, it is an asset to know the motivations of the human pysche, what drives men to their madness and women to despair."

Rose sat up and curled her legs under her. Without thinking, she reached over and held Sherlock's hand in hers and said, "Well you've got it all wrong. It's not sex that does those things. It's love. And that's not something you'll find around here."

She dropped his hand and stood up, retrieving her dressing gown from the end of the bed.

Sherlock watched her as she wrapped the gown around herself. She then checked the timer on her dresser and said, "Five more minutes. Do you want to get dressed now? We can talk some more while you're doing that."

"Do you have another client?" Sherlock asked, rising from the bed.

"No. I'd just like to get home at a reasonable hour tonight. Not that I'm meant to be complaining to you about my work..." she added sheepishly.

"I appreciate your honesty more than your lies," Sherlock stated, as he dressed himself. "Lying must be second nature to you by now."

Rose felt a little sad at seeing herself through 'John's' eyes. She'd been called much, much worse by clients, but 'John' seemed to state things so matter-of-factly, so bluntly, that they stung a little more.

She didn't say anything in return.

"Do you hate your job?" he asked, while buttoning up his shirt and raising his eyebrows at her expectantly.

"Yes," she heard herself saying, "Sometimes," she quickly added as she saw 'John's' face fall ever so slightly. "Just the fat, sweaty fucks mostly."

Sherlock gave her a look of disapproval. "Then why do you do it? People are far more successful in their lives if they undertake work they enjoy..."

"Do you think this is my career choice? I'm studying..." then she stopped, realizing she revealed too much as she took in 'John's' triumphant grin.

"So you are a student."

He looked quite jubilant, Rose thought, as if he'd won a prize.

"What are you studying?" he asked nonplussed, as if they had just met at a party.

Rose crossed her arms, already irritable that she had revealed this much.

"I can't talk to you anymore."

"What do you mean you can't?" Sherlock looked up as he put his shoes on. "Has the timer gone off?" He looked over to the dresser.

"No. If I'm at any time made to feel uncomfortable I can ask you to leave. And if you don't leave, Mark and the boys will escort you out. This was made clear to you when you signed the entry book upon entering this establishment."

Sherlock frowned. She was reciting the same disclaimer Mark had read out to him downstairs. He didn't realize he had made her feel so uncomfortable that the 'leave the premises or else' clause had kicked in.

He stood up and slipped his jacket on while Rose continued to glare at him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Flipping it open, he grabbed two fifty pound notes and held them out to Rose.

"Are you still giving me a tip?"

"I found your conversation as enlightening as before," he said impassively.

She folded the money into her hand and held open the door for him.

"Good bye, Shelley," he said.

"Bye, John."


	3. Chapter 3: Third Time's a Charm

**Chapter 3: Third Time's a Charm**

"Lovely to see you again, John. I thought we'd scared you away."

Rose ushered Sherlock in, who didn't feel as confident as he did two weeks prior.

"No, I was away last week on a... for work. But I also wasn't sure they'd let me see you again, after what happened..."

"No, nothing dramatic like that. Not for something minor. You would've received the additional warning again downstairs though?"

"Yes."

"And I'm obliged to tell you once more, unless you want to say it to me yourself?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, then preceded to recite, "No kissing, no biting, no anal sex. No bodily fluids on your face or in your hair. And no questions of a personal nature."

"Well done."

"I assume you created the addendum just for me?"

"Yes I did," smirked Rose.

"And my...preferences?" Sherlock challenged, shrugging off his jacket.

"Oh," Rose said, taken aback at having to give an oral recount of a client's desires. "Let's see...no unnecessarily slow movements, caresses, or fake sounds?"

"Or expressions."

"Oh, yes."

"Aren't you getting undressed?" Sherlock asked as he sat down in the armchair to remove his shoes and socks.

"I've prepared ahead of time tonight - specific to your needs."

Rose opened her dressing gown to reveal her naked body.

"Oh," Sherlock said, standing up to undo his shirt buttons.

"We could try something a little different while you're undressing," Rose suggested, tentatively moving toward Sherlock.

He eyed her suspiciously.

"Let's just try this - you may like it," she smiled slyly, unbuckling his belt for him, and glancing up into his eyes to check for a reaction.

Sherlock stared at her as if to say _We've already been through this undressing thing and you know my thoughts already._

"Don't worry," she reassured him. "This is just a slight variation on something you already like."

Rose unzipped his trousers, allowing them to drop to the ground. She quickly shed her dressing gown, then bent down onto her knees, reaching into Sherlock's boxers. When Sherlock saw what was about to happen he had a sudden mental picture of Anderson, his most hated forensics specialist, and Sergeant Sally Donovan, a bully of a police constable. He had accused them of liaising in this very position. And once that image was in his mind, it would not leave.

"Uh. No," he said, stepping out of Rose's reach. "Not going to happen like that."

"But it's the same as the bed," she protested, standing up again. "It's just that you'll feel more dominant, which can be a real turn on."

"No, I don't want that. I don't need extra turning on. Just like before. I'm happy with that." Sherlock bent down and retrieved his trousers, placing them neatly on the armchair as Rose picked up her dressing gown and slid it on again, wrapping it around herself. She went over to sit in the middle of the bed while she waited for Sherlock to shed his underwear and join her. Before he removed them, however, he noticed Rose's gown.

"Why did you put that back on again?"

"It's a bit cold, so I'll take it off at the last second if you don't mind - unless you want to try for the visual stimulation again?"

"Oh, we didn't establish whether it was the thought of sex or the sight of your naked body which caused my arousal last time. Let's just leave it on for now...although you just flashed me your breasts, so that lessens the purity of the experiment. We'll just have to start again next week. No, leave it on if you're cold... why are you cold? Isn't the heating on?"

"I don't think it's working properly," she replied, glancing up at the outlet in the ceiling.

Sherlock, clad only in boxers, stepped up onto the bed and peered up to the ceiling to examine the vent.

"Um, John," Rose said, nervously.

"No, I think something's jammed in there," Sherlock muttered. Then he glanced about the room.

"Do you have a long thin instrument, like a chisel, metal ruler, or flathead screwdriver?"

"Not in this room. Look, John, just leave it. There's people to fix these things..."

"Looks like its been jammed for ages," he tutted.

"Just leave it."

"But you're cold," he responded, stepping down off the bed. "Don't you have anything warmer to wear... over the top bit?" Sherlock surveyed the room, frowning. "Where do you store your clothes?"

"Not here."

"Where then?"

Rose raised her eyebrows at him, her mouth drawn in a thin line.

"Too personal?" he guessed.

"Yes."

"Here, wear my shirt," Sherlock insisted, grabbing it from the chair.

"Your shirt? Look, I'll be fine once we get started," Rose protested. But Sherlock held out the shirt for her until she climbed off the bed and dropped her robe once more and turned her back on him. Sherlock wrapped it around her, and while she slid her arms into the sleeves, Sherlock gently turned her to face him and started fastening some of the buttons.

"You don't need all of them done up," he said softly. He surveyed her briefly before remarking, "Oh, I always roll my sleeves up when I'm working," then he set about rolling up both sleeves for her while Rose puzzled over him.

"There. Warm on top, and still..." he waved his hand at her lower half, "...accessible." He chuckled at his own ingenuity, then slid his underwear off and sat back on the bed, scanning Rose from head to toe and grinning.

"You're very practical."

"Simple solutions to simple problems."

Rose grinned, then climbed onto the bed, straddling Sherlock. He automatically put his hands to her hips.

"Looks like you got ready all by yourself," Rose whispered, leaning down toward Sherlock's chest and gently kissing him there. She made her way down his torso, lightly kissing him here and there waiting for his impatient protests. When instead she heard a sigh of satisfaction, she continued downwards to give Sherlock his regular optional extra.

Sex continued on in the same fashion, with the added novelty of Sherlock sitting up when Rose was still on top of him and helping to lift his shirt off over her head. Immediately afterward there was a slightly nerve-wracking moment when Rose thought he was about to kiss her, but she was able to distract him by kissing him nipples, and flicking her tongue over them until he groaned.

They continued on according to Sherlock's directions: Rose on top for a bit, then Sherlock to drive it home, so to speak. Once Sherlock had climaxed and collapsed on top of her, Rose put her arms around his neck, and held him there briefly, feeling him breathing heavily into her neck. Then she felt slightly panicky at the odd turn on that that moment gave her, and she let him go. Sherlock didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary about that moment though.

He lay back and stared at the ceiling, one arm loosely about his chest, and the other under his head. Rose turned to him, ready for another engaging conversation.

"So where did your work take you last week? You said you went away?"

"Dartmoor," Sherlock replied.

"I've never been there. What's it like?"

"Bleak. Foggy."

"What sort of work were you doing?"

Sherlock turned his head to meet Rose's inquisitive gaze.

"Looking for a wild dog that was menacing the area."

"Really?" Rose asked skeptically. "You don't seem like the outdoorsy, wildlife warrior type."

Sherlock smiled to himself, as he relived the memory of the hound from hell.

"My turn for a question," Sherlock said, smirking.

"Think you can manage to keep it general?"

"Well, it's in this room, which is only used for the purposes of sex."

"What is?"

"That cupboard," said Sherlock, indicating the door behind Rose. "It looks like it doesn't close properly. What's in it?"

"Oh, these," said Rose rising from the bed and opening the closet door. "These are costumes, for dress ups."

"For whom?" asked Sherlock, puzzled.

"For me, or whoever else uses this room. Maria, mostly. Have you met her?"

"Ah, no."

"Some clients like us to dress up," Rose commented, smiling at Sherlock. "Here, you might see something that takes your fancy."

"Why would I want you to get dressed? I need you undressed."

Rose smiled patiently at Sherlock. "Some guys have a fantasy of getting to fuck a nurse, or a playboy bunny or... parlor maid..." She briefly held out each costume bag as she recited the costumes packaged within.

"Where are there parlor maids these days for them to have fantasized about them?" Sherlock asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Actually, I don't know," Rose replied thoughtfully. "Weird, huh? ...Or a school girl, biker girl, or this one, my favourite, police constable."

"Police constable?" scoffed Sherlock.

"Yes, it's very popular. Would you like to see me try it on?"

"Ah. No," Sherlock replied emphatically. "I've seen enough of those in real life, and there's no way any police constable is getting to suck my cock."

Rose laughed, taking in Sherlock's look of disgust for the costume, and then he started laughing, a closed mouth, wide grin, rumbling sort of laugh.

"No police constables then," Rose stated, grinning, closing the closet with an extra shove so that it stayed closed this time. She then glanced at her timer on the dresser. When she turned around to Sherlock, he was regarding her with a slight look of dejection.

"How much longer?" he asked.

"Four minutes. Should we get dressed?"

Sherlock sat up, cleaned himself up first, then slowly rose and grabbed his underwear. Of course Rose was already as dressed as she was going to be once she'd slipped her dressing gown back on.

"Any more clients tonight?" Sherlock asked, hoping that wasn't one of the personal questions he was banned from asking.

"No, you're my only client on Tuesdays," she replied, smiling shyly, which momentarily surprised Sherlock.

"Oh, so last week...?"

"I didn't get called in."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

"Because you missed out on the income."

"Oh, I'm fine. Saturday night was busy."

"Am I allowed to ask what other nights you work, or is that too personal?"

"No, that's fine. As you're a regular client you may need to make an appointment for another time, so that's a valid question."

"So?"

"I'm available Tuesdays, to be called in, or I'm on the premises Thursdays and Saturdays."

"What about call-outs?"

"To private houses and hotels?"

"Yes."

"No, we don't do those. You'll want an escort agency. This is Mark's house and we sometimes stay over with our clients," Rose smirked.

"Because brothels are illegal."

"Yes. So in no way is this a brothel," she reiterated, smiling mischievously at Sherlock.

"If I was to ask if you'll..."

"No."

"I haven't finished yet."

"You want to ask if I'll come to your place. No. I don't do that. I don't consider a client's house or hotel room a safe environment. There are plenty of escorts around though. Try those."

Sherlock frowned. He was fully dressed now. "But I don't want anybody else."

At that moment Rose's timer gave two almost in audible beeps. Sherlock sighed, then reached into his jacket for his wallet.

"I'm sorry, John. That's the way I work."

Sherlock pulled out a one hundred pound note. "Thank you" he said.

"Thanks for the tip, once again," Rose replied, taking the money.

"Are your other clients tipping you generously now that you've given up those annoying comments you make during sex?"

Rose remained composed despite the urge to laugh hysterically at Sherlock. "Some clients like it."

"Why?"

"Because it makes them feel good about themselves."

"But you're not very convincing."

"That's a matter of opinion."

Sherlock regarded her for a moment, thinking she was delusional.

"Will I see you next week?" Rose asked, changing the subject.

"I think so," Sherlock replied, looking curiously at Rose, for he thought he noticed a hint of hope in her face. He smiled wanly. "Goodbye, Shelley."

"See you next time, John!"


	4. Chapter 4: Negotiation

**Chapter 4: Negotiation**

"How could you spend over three hundred pounds in as many weeks? You never buy groceries, rarely buy clothes. Are you...you...you're not..." John peered closely at Sherlock's eyes. "Using?"

"Shut up! Of course not! I don't even smoke. You must've been mistaken about the balance," Sherlock countered from the comfort of his armchair.

John dumped the bills down back on the side table next to his chair, crossed his arms and turned his head to the side, mystified.

"Well all I know is, when I used your card at the chip and pin machine there was over 300 quid, and that was after my purchases. Henry Knight paid for all our expenses in Dartmoor, so..."

"You were mistaken about the balance," Sherlock stated matter-of-factly.

John was pretty miffed. All of his pay cheque went into refitting the kitchen window which blew out as a result of one of Sherlock's wayward experiments.

"Any cash in your wallet?" John stood up suddenly and strode over to the table before Sherlock had a chance to even rise from his chair. An attempt to make a dash for his wallet now would seem too obvious and guilt-ridden.

Resigning to his fate, Sherlock sank back into his chair.

"One hundred quid! You've got one hundred quid in here! Right, I'm taking fifty of it to pay for this food."

"Food?" Sherlock said, incredulously.

"Yes! How else do you think we're going to eat? And dunny paper. Need more of that."

And grabbing his jacket, he left Sherlock in a world of turmoil. Sherlock had already been contemplating how he could borrow a few extra quid off John in order to pay for a cab over to the brothel in Lyceum Street. But now, he didn't even have enough money to pay for the sex anyway. The week had gone way too slowly for him, and he'd been so looking forward to Tuesday night.

He stood up and started pacing, feeling frustrated. He was just going to have to accept some of those tedious cases that had come in over the last few weeks. He was never interested in cases for the money. It was all about the work. But now he needed cash. _How_ to get more cash.

"Woo hoo!" came a voice from the landing.

_Mrs Hudson._

"Ah, Mrs Hudson, how lovely you're looking this evening!"

* * *

"Hi John! Oh, everything okay?" Rose asked as she took in Sherlock's dismal look.

"I can't tip you tonight."

"Um, that's okay," Rose said kindly, "You don't always have to tip. You're tipping me for my conversation anyway. You won't miss out on sex."

"I enjoy your conversation."

"And we'll still have it. I'm not going to not talk to you."

"Good," he said, shrugging off his jacket. "The heating appears to be working?"

"Yes, it was a piece of plastic from the old outlet cover they said. Good spotting. Although the cold did help my nipples become erect without having anyone touch them," she added, smiling. She shed her gown and moved over to the bed as Sherlock continued undressing.

"Oh, signs of arousal?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes."

"Can't fake the other signs though," Sherlock murmured, unbuttoning his shirt.

"Apparently not. I can't say that anyone but you has noticed though."

"I really don't know why you bother with all of the other stuff. It's supposed to be about the client getting off isn't it?"

"And their ability to stimulate me, or so they think, helps them to do that."

"Why?"

"Everyone likes to think they're good in the sack."

"Why do they like to think that?"

"Human nature I guess."

"How is it measured?"

"How is what measured?"

"How good you are?"

Sherlock made his way over to the bed now that he was naked, and semi aroused. He lay down next to Rose who was still sitting up.

"How good you are is determined by how much pleasure you give to your sexual partner."

"So...therefore clients like to see you getting off so they feel good about themselves," Sherlock concluded with distaste.

"Wouldn't you like to know if you were any good?"

"Well clearly I'm not because you're not aroused at all."

"I won't let myself be. It's not professional."

She moved closer to Sherlock's side.

"Same again?"

Sherlock nodded.

It was exactly the same, according to Sherlock's specifications, although this time he felt slightly self-conscious knowing he was the only one getting off. It was an odd feeling. The first time he'd had sex he didn't care. It was like masturbation using another person's body instead of his hand. But now he was acutely aware that there was somebody else involved, and they weren't having as good a time as he was.

He still found Rose completely encouraging though, and had no trouble climaxing once again.

"Don't you want to enjoy yourself?" Sherlock asked, panting, continuing the conversation as if the last few minutes hadn't happened.

Rose looked at him and raised her eyebrows.

"Personal?" he asked.

"Yes. Although..." she left the bed and began putting her dressing gown on. "Speaking of personal...I was thinking about your request..."

"My request?" Sherlock asked, puzzled.

"About coming to your place."

"Oh," Sherlock remarked. He pulled himself to a semi-sitting up position, fully focused.

"How much would you give me? I wouldn't want to go all that way for any less time than an hour."

Sherlock thought for a moment. "It would have to be financially beneficial to both of us. If I booked you for an hour here, what's that? 320?"

"Three hundred actually. A slight discount for the full hour."

"How much of that would you get?"

"I'm not allowed to say."

"Then how am I supposed to give you a figure worth your while? Obviously if you come to my house, we've dispensed with the middle man and you'll get to keep the full amount. Three hundred is out of my price range..."

"How about two hundred?"

"Two hundred," Sherlock thought to himself. Two hundred pounds to have Rose's company for an entire hour in the comfort of his own flat. They could have sex at least twice in that time. But he could barely scrape together eighty pounds today. Surely he could earn two hundreds pounds by next week, but he'd never had to chase his own clients for payment before. He never really cared if they paid or not. John did though. Yet he couldn't involve John in chasing payment. John would then question exactly where that money went if it disappeared in an instant.

"Two hundred," he repeated.

"We'd have to negotiate other conditions though," Rose said hurriedly. "For my own safety and your privacy of course."

"That's fine," Sherlock said finally. His stomach made an involuntary twist internally, which surprised him. He sat up and began clean up operations.

Rose had crossed her arms and stood with her back to him facing the window and glancing through the narrow slits in the curtain to the street outside.

"We can't let them know, downstairs," she said in a low voice. "I'll be let go...or worse," she added, her voice barely audible.

"You can count on my discretion," Sherlock reassured her, rising from the bed. "So...when?"

"Obviously not Tuesday, Thursday or Saturday nights."

"Oh, of course," Sherlock thought. Tuesdays would've been best as John was definitely out. Friday night he was sometimes out on a date, Saturday was more likely, but both nights were not guaranteed. Although...

"What about in the late afternoon one day?" he proposed. John worked late some days, so that could work.

"Oh. You won't mind me showing up to your place in daylight?"

"All kinds of people show up to my place during the day," he said, dressing as he spoke.

"Really? Well," Rose began, thinking about her schedule. "I have something on until three on Wednesday, so... where do you live? It will depend on how far I have to travel."

"Not far from here - Baker Street."

"Oh good!" she said, her face brightening. "That's not far from...the tube. So how about 4pm Wednesday?"

Sherlock smiled broadly. It was happening. "Excellent," he said, shrugging on a jacket and pulling out his wallet.

"Here," he started counting out the money, "Fifty, seventy, seventy-five, and," he handed her the coins he'd raided from John's dresser, "...eighty."

"Thank you," Rose said, almost laughing. "So you won't be here next Tuesday night then?" she almost whispered.

Sherlock smiled, his eyes twinkling as he shook his head.

"Address?" she asked.

"221B Baker Street. Oh!" Sherlock had a sudden thought. "You'll be dressed..."

"In normal clothes, don't worry," she laughed.

"Oh, good."

"Goodbye, John. See you next time," Rose said at normal volume, opening the door for him.

"Bye, Shelley."


	5. Chapter 5: The Student and the Detective

**Chapter 5: The Student and the Detective**

Sherlock eyed the bank transactions greedily. He scanned his screen, muttering, "Deposit, deposit...good."

John had been surprised when Sherlock had ruthlessly insisted to a new client that they pay him a deposit before he even took their case and negotiated payment in full within three days of solving it. He hadn't let his client know that he had already solved their case while speaking to them. He'd waited 24 hours to give the illusion of having done some research before giving them the information, then promptly emailed them an invoice.

"Simple business economics, John!" he had commented when John complained, "I have to remain competitive."

"With who? You're the world's only consulting detective, according to you!"

And John was completely stunned when he saw Sherlock 'tidying up' their flat.

"What's happening? Is the Queen coming to visit?" he asked, eyeing Sherlock as he shuffled papers around on his desk.

"Establishing a workflow, John. In-tray, out-tray," he said, gesturing to items on the living room table, "files, folders..."

"Uh, yeah, I know what these things are. The question is, why do you? What's going on Sherlock? I can even see the surface of the dining room table now that you've moved your experiments to the sideboard."

"Efficiency in my physical work environment, leads to efficiency in my mental capabilities," Sherlock stated, holding a piece of paper and frantically turning this way and that until he spied the folder he needed.

"Right, well, I'll leave you to it then. I'm off to work. You going out again tonight?"

"Hmm? No," said Sherlock, not looking up.

"Oh. Case finished then?"

"Case?"

"The case you said you were working on the last few Tuesday nights when you had to go visit that mysterious government department, only open in the evenings."

"Ah. Yes. All done, John."

"Good. Well goodnight then."

"Night, John."

* * *

Sherlock fidgeted nervously. He was seated in his armchair by the fire, plucking at the strings of his violin. The flat was tidy, John was at work again, it was - he looked at his watch - a quarter to four. Wednesday had finally arrived. He'd showered and shaved and was back in his shirt and trousers, no jacket.

His phone rang. _Lestrade_.

"Detective Inspector..." Sherlock said, speaking into the phone and standing up. "No...yes...text me the details...I'll be there tomorrow... no, morning."

He listened for a bit longer as the details of a new case were narrated to him by the Scotland Yard detective. He half listened as the sound of footsteps on the stairs gave him pause. He looked on in horror as John strolled through the door.

"Before you ask - two cases of influenza, a Pap smear, gout, Mrs Turner's grandson with a piece of Lego in his ear, a viral infection of the..."

John stopped talking, taking in Sherlock's expression.

"I'll hear the rest of the details tomorrow, Lestrade," Sherlock muttered into the phone before ending the call. "Why are you here?" Sherlock asked in a panic.

"I live here," John answered, shaking his head. "What was that?" he asked, indicating Sherlock's phone with his eyes. "Another one of those Whitechapel murders?"

"What? Oh, dunno...why are you home now? Your shift finishes at 6pm Wednesdays!" Sherlock asked, incredulous.

"I told you," John stated, looking slightly annoyed at his flatmate who yet again demonstrated his inability to retain any information John gave him. He walked over to the kitchen and filled the kettle while saying, "I have to take Stephanie's early shift tomorrow morning, so I got to finish early today... tea?"

"No! You have to go!"

"What?"

"I've got a client coming. She..." He thought quickly, "...gets overwhelmed at ... too many people..." he was faltering, "...looking at her..."

John gave Sherlock a look of confusion as the sound of Sherlock's doorbell pierced the air.

"I'll get it!" Mrs Hudson called out.

Sherlock's stomach dropped a few centimetres. _This is turning into a three ringed circus, _he thought.

Looking at Sherlock suspiciously, John suggested, "I'll just...go down and have tea with Mrs Hudson then."

Sherlock breathed out. "That would be best. Perhaps for about an hour...and a half," he said. What's the worst that could happen? John will just pass her on the stairs, say hello, maybe make a silly flirtatious comment and that would be all. She knew Sherlock had a flatmate...John.

_John!_

_He_ was 'John'!

Sherlock had forgotten to tell 'Shelley' his real name! In a panic, he walked over to the living room door, and stopped on the landing as voices floated up to him.

"Yes, I'm John. John Watson," he heard John say. Probably extending his hand or something, thought Sherlock.

"I...have an appointment?" he heard 'Shelley's' voice. She was speaking carefully and Sherlock noted the confused tone in her question.

"Ah, yes. With Sherlock," John replied pleasantly. "I'll just take you up."

Sherlock quickly stepped back into the living room. _Stand up? Sit down? Lean on the mantelpiece nonchalantly?_ He finally decided on putting the kettle on as John and Rose entered the room.

"Ah, Sherlock?" John called, not immediately seeing Sherlock around the corner.

"Yes?" Sherlock tried to stroll out casually, his back awkwardly stiff due to the stress of the situation.

"Your...client? I'm sorry, what was your name?" John turned to address Rose.

"Shelley."

Rose looked over at Sherlock, detecting a mild panic-stricken look behind his usually sparkling grey eyes.

"Hello," she said shyly, not exactly sure what was going on. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock remained rigid, then shifted his eyes to John, willing him to leave.

"Ah, Shelley asked for me, so...did you want me to stay?" John quizzed Sherlock. He was also confused as to why Sherlock's client had said to Mrs Hudson that she wanted to see 'John.' "I'm Sherlock's colleague," John explained to Rose, "but I guess you knew that? I can just sit quietly at the back of the room and take notes if you like," he said reassuringly.

Rosie's eyes widened and she stared at Sherlock.

_The bastard!_ That's why he was so keen to fuck her in his flat. He wanted his flatmate to watch and... take notes?

"I'm not sure exactly what we've negotiated here," she began, carefully choosing her words. She didn't want to make them both angry, although she was standing near the door. She could always make a run for it.

At last Sherlock came to his senses, formulated a half-assed plan in his mind and found his voice. He cleared his throat.

"Ah, Shelley's a student, John. She's come to interview me about my cases for a ...school..ah...university report. There's no need for you to take notes, John. Shelley will be doing all the writing." He turned to Rose, "Sorry, it's a bit crowded in here. John came home from work unexpectedly. Do have a seat."

Sherlock was relieved to observe a look of realisation cross Rose's face, and without missing a beat she said, "Um, yes. Thanks for seeing me."

"Sherlock's cases? Excellent. Have you read my blog?" John asked, taking a seat next to Rose as she sat down on the couch. "Sherlock, were you putting the kettle on?"

Sherlock clenched his jaw as Rose looked up at him and said "Tea. White with one thanks."

"Ah, yes," said John, rubbing his hands together. "Where should we start. Was there anything specific? What's your major exactly?"

From the kitchen Sherlock heard Rose say, "Psychology."

_No wonder, _he thought. He fussed about with the tea things, his mind in a fervour, trying to come up with an idea, any idea, to get John to leave. Immediately.

Laughter emanated from the living room. Sherlock had nothing. With a sinking heart he carried the tea tray into the living room.

Rose had her bag open, and had a notepad on her lap, and she was scribbling away.

"Sherlock, what was the occupation of the murderer in the aluminium crutch?" John asked him.

"Chef," Sherlock replied sullenly.

"There you go," John said to Rose. "Could be the physical demands of the job affecting his mental state. Good point."

Sherlock frowned. John poured the tea as Rose asked pointed and intelligent questions about the perpetrators of the crimes of many of Sherlock's cases that John could recall. Sherlock sat back in a chair he had pulled over from the living room table and answered John in monosyllables whenever he posed questions to him for clarification. Rose, though, directed all her questions to John. It seemed as if, in this weird parallel universe, that she _was_ actually a university student taking notes for an assignment on the psyche of the criminal mind.

Presently there came two almost inaudible beeps from the confines of Rose's bag. Sherlock's heart fell. He looked at his watch.

"Oh, my train," commented Rose, closing up her notepad. "Thanks ever so much. That was wonderful!" she remarked, looking from John to Sherlock.

Sherlock stood up when she did.

"Yes, well, if there's anything else you need, just give us a call," John said, also rising from the couch.

"I'll walk you out," Sherlock said quickly, as John gave him a questioning look.

Sherlock grabbed his jacket from the back of his armchair as John picked up the tea tray.

"Lovely to meet you, Shelley," he said. "And if you're ever interested any other aspect of the medical profession..."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and tutted.

He followed Rose downstairs in silence, then stepped out onto Baker Street with her, letting the external door click shut behind him.

Rose started laughing, almost doubling over.

"Oh my sweet Lord!" she said finally, wiping away tears. "I will never forget that as long as I live!"

Sherlock wasn't impressed.

"I'm sorry," she said, gently touching his sleeve. "That was so awkward."

"Yes, well, he wasn't meant to be home."

"And...does't he know about you and..."

"John's fairly conservative. He likes to date first, and have sex much later. Much, much, later. I'm sorry you had to sit through that... conversation."

"Oh, but...that was so interesting! What an amazing life you have together!" she exclaimed, her hand still resting on Sherlock's arm.

"We're not together."

She rubbed his arm again. "Well I really do have to catch a train."

"Oh," Sherlock said, reaching into his jacket.

"No, I didn't mean that," Rose said, removing her arm. "I don't want payment."

"But I took up an hour of your time," Sherlock protested.

"And so did I. Consulting Detective. Well, that's a new one! I could actually use all the notes I took for a paper later this year. So let's call it even."

"You really are a psychology student?"

"Yes! Mature age student...so, well now you know. In fact you're only one of two people who know about both sides of me...so..."

"I can keep a secret."

She smiled faintly. "Thank you."

Rose stepped closer to Sherlock, then reached up and gently caressed his cheek. "We'll reschedule. Okay? Come see me in Lyceum Street Thursday or Saturday." Then she dropped her hand, stepping back when Sherlock nodded faintly. "Well, goodbye John...I mean, Sherlock," she said, turning to leave.

"Bye Rose."

Rose stopped. "How did you...?"

"Consulting Detective, remember."

Rose looked puzzled.

"It was written on the cover of your notepad," Sherlock said with a sly smile.

She grinned back at him, then turned to walk off down the street toward the tube station. As Sherlock spun on his heels to re-enter the flat, John closed the small slit in the curtain he had been watching from. He had no idea what he had just witnessed.


	6. Chapter 6: Arrested!

**Chapter 6: Arrested!**

Sherlock watched the front door with a mixture of fascination and impatience. He was waiting for a chance to enter the Lyceum Street brothel for a good 10 minutes, hoping for a gap in between clients entering and exiting. He thought 8pm was an early enough time - aren't people still at home eating their corned beef? - but he hadn't countered on the late workers, leaving their places of employment, probably about 7pm, stopping by the shops to pick up a bag of carrots for their wives, stopping by a brothel for a quick fuck before returning home to their loving family.

Sherlock gave up his covert operation and strode over to the door. He entered, nodded to the 'sentry' - a guy standing by a fake palm tree and looking bored, walked along the corridor and turned right, into the small living area that served as the reception and waiting area. There was only one other man in there, apart from the male receptionist who was reading a comic book, and he was seated on a small brown couch, peering at his phone.

Sherlock didn't recognise the receptionist. Mark, the owner, was usually there on the Tuesday night.

"May I help you?"

"Ah, just a quick word with Shelley if she's available," Sherlock asked, hoping that wouldn't be mistaken for an appointment.

"A quick word?"

"With Shelley, yes."

"She's with a gentlemen."

"If you could just let her know I'm here, once she's, ah, done, that would be great."

"And you are?"

"John."

"John?"

"Yes," Sherlock replied, quickly scanning the man. _Smoker, gay, addicted to opiates, lactose intolerant, nail biter, right-handed..._

"Look mate. Every Tom, Dick 'n Harry in this joint is called John. John from where?"

"John from," began Sherlock, thinking there was no getting round this, "...Baker Street."

"Right. Take a seat."

The receptionist looked back down at his comic book again, while Sherlock walked over to the couches and sat opposite the other man. Both men pretended the other didn't exist. Sherlock checked his phone for messages.

Sherlock looked up when he heard loud thuds on the stairs behind reception. A very large, overweight gentlemen stomped downstairs, panting slightly and mopping his brow with a handkerchief.

_Good God,_ thought Sherlock, _please tell me Rose was not just underneath that guy._

The receptionist disappeared upstairs for a minute, then came back down with Rose just behind him. She was wearing her dressing gown, and had pink fluffy slippers on her feet. Instead of coming all the way down to the bottom of the stairs, she silently gestured for Sherlock to come up.

Hesitantly he stood up and made his way behind reception to the stairs and to Rose.

"I haven't got long," she whispered. "I have to shower. Follow me."

Sherlock followed Rose up the same flight of stairs he was used to treading, then along a corridor, but past the room they usually inhabited. Rose stopped in front of a door at the end of the corridor, and pressed a series of numbers on a keypad above the door handle.

"Come in," she said, when Sherlock hesitated.

Sherlock entered the room after her, taking in the details of this much larger bedroom. There were a couple of lockers, plus three dressing tables. There were overnight bags lying haphazardly on the bed and dresses on hangers adorning the walls.

"This is where we keep our shit. Shower's this way."

She grabbed one of the overnight bags and entered the ensuite.

"Come in, " she called back when Sherlock stopped. "I haven't got time, so you'll have to talk to me while I shower. I've only got a fifteen minute break - well ten now since that fat fuck tried to get me to take off his fuckin' rubber for him."

Rose had turned on the shower and was testing the water temperature. She shrugged off her dressing gown and handed it to Sherlock.

"Can you hang that up behind you, please? So how are ya?" she asked, entering the shower and shutting the door behind her.

"Just wanted to make another time with you," Sherlock shouted over the water.

"Oh, bastard! That fuckin' bastard!" she stuck her head out of the shower door. "Sorry, not you. Listen, I'm going to have to wash and dry my hair, which will make me very late. Can you go down to Leith..."

"Leith?"

"On reception."

"Oh."

"And tell him Harold's gizz is in my hair again and I need ten more minutes."

"Gizz?"

"Gism."

And when Sherlock still looked vague.

"Cum! Semen!"

"Oh!"

"Just go...sorry, can you please do that? Oh! The code to get back in is 1-2-3-4-5."

She returned to the shower while Sherlock hurried downstairs to deliver the message to Leith.

He cleared his throat, wondering how on earth to begin.

"All done then?" Leith asked.

"A message from Shelley. She's in the shower and..."

"Let me guess - Harold lost control again."

"Ah, yes," Sherlock answered, wondering why Rose couldn't have been more subtle.

"Thank you," Leith said, sounding bored. "Tell Shelley her 8:30 hasn't arrived anyway, so she's got time."

Sherlock turned and ascended the stairs again. Just what was the hourly rate for a brothel gopher? He thought. He tutted as he entered the door code, then made his way to the ensuite. Rose was just getting out of the shower, dripping wet, and trying to get water out of one ear with a corner of a towel. Sherlock turned his back on her and looked at his watch.

Behind him he heard Rose giggle. "You don't have to be so shy! You've fucked me remember!"

"This just doesn't seem appropriate," he answered, still with his back to her. "This is your private time for..." he waved his hand in the air, "... grooming or whatever."

She laughed again. "I've done the _grooming_. I just have to dry my hair and put make-up on again. So...another appointment. Do you want to try for night-time then?"

"No, John's more likely to be home at night, except for the weekends, but that's all too hit and miss with him."

"I don't get it," Rose began, as Sherlock heard the distinct sound of her vigorously rubbing her hair dry with her towel, "are you a couple or not?"

"Who?"

"You and John."

Sherlock sighed. "No. We are not a couple. We share a flat, and John sometimes accompanies me on my cases."

"Oh, okay, then. So what day and time? You now know I have uni lectures."

"Monday morning?"

"No. Sociology."

"Tuesday midday?"

"Er..."

There was a loud knock on the ensuite door, followed by a woman's voice who shouted, "Client!"

"All right!" shouted Rose. "Can you hang this up please?" she whispered to Sherlock, handing him her towel. "Who is it?" she shouted back through the door, but the sound of the bedroom door closing signalled that whoever had spoken to her had left the room and was now out of earshot.

"Oh bloody hell. John...I mean, Sherlock, could you please, please, and this is one last time...ask Leith who my client is? I have to know what to wear."

She bent down and retrieved a hair dryer from the cupboard. Sherlock sighed and as he opened the ensuite door, Rose said, "Tuesday midday... I can't think..."

Sherlock raced down to reception, waited while Leith scanned the appointment book, then said, "Phil."

"Phil," repeated Sherlock, making for the stairs again.

"Look, just tell her 'police constable'!" Leith called back after Sherlock.

As Sherlock made his way back to Rose, he wondered if they shouted things back and forth about him. He shuddered to think.

She was still drying her hair when he got back. Still naked. He tried to tell her over the noise of the dryer, but she just shook her head indicating she couldn't hear him. Sherlock leaned back against the door and crossed his arms waiting for her.

After a minute she turned off the dryer.

"Police constable," said Sherlock without emotion.

"Oh. Can you be a honey and fetch it for me? You know where it is. In our room."

_Our room,_ thought Sherlock. If he could help it, he'll never set foot in this building again.

"Make sure you really push on that closet door to close it!" Rose called after him.

Sherlock entered 'their' room and was surprised to see a woman in there, stripping the top sheet off the bed.

"Oh excuse me," he said.

She looked up at him and shook her head. _Oh_, thought Sherlock. _No English. _He indicated the closet and said, raising his eyebrows, "Costumes?"

She just stared at him, then went back to removing the sheet. Sherlock strode over to the closet, pulled it open, then rifled through the costume bags until he found the police constable uniform. He removed the bag from the hanger rail, closed the door, found it didn't stick, then opened and really rammed it home til it stuck fast.

"Thank you!" he said to the linen lady, and strode down the corridor muttering, "I'm a Consulting Detective for Christ's sake!"

Once back in the room he was relieved to see Rose in the dressing area and finally out of the ensuite. He was surprised to see her in a black bra, black stockings and a garter belt. No underwear. She was fixing her hair in a loose bun on top of her head. She smiled at Sherlock in the reflection of the mirror.

"This is for the hat," she informed him. "Here, pass it to me."

Sherlock placed the bag down on a dresser, unzipped it, and pulled the police constable hat out. Rose put it on.

"See?" she said, her eyes glinting with mischief, "I do this..." she pulled the hat off, and her hair tumbled down around her shoulders. "But usually it's the client who pulls it off me."

Sherlock shook his head. "All this just for sex."

Rose shrugged, piling her hair back up again.

"Now," she said, rummaging in the bag. She pulled out a white shirt. "Tuesday, midday, you said?"

"Around midday," Sherlock answered, thinking, _Are we still having the same conversation? _"Probably closer to 11."

"No, I have a lunch date this week."

Sherlock sighed as he watched Rose pull on a very short black skirt. She tucked the white shirt into it. "Bullet proof vest?" she asked Sherlock, indicating the costume bag.

"I don't think it really is," Sherlock deadpanned.

Rose laughed.

"Radio?"

Sherlock pulled out the accessories one by one and handed them to Rose. He was stunned looking at her. Apart from the probably very impractical short skirt, she looked every bit like someone from the C.I.D. She caught his stares and smirked.

"See?" she said, "You like it now, don't you?"

"It's kind of disturbing," he answered.

The door to the room suddenly opened and a woman with far too much make-up on, Sherlock thought, stuck her head in.

"Your 8:30 cancelled," she informed Rose.

"What? I thought you just yelled out that he was here."

"Sorry, Shell! I thought you were Tessa in there. You've got no one til nine."

She shut the door on them.

"Great," Rose said, sounding disappointed. "Well, I've got half an hour. What do you want to do?" she looked up at Sherlock expectantly.

"Ah. No," Sherlock replied. "Didn't bring any cash. Sorry."

Rose grinned at him slyly and stepped slowly toward him. "You've been helping me tonight. How about a freebie?"

"Um. No," Sherlock stated, scanning Rose from head to toe. _Really disturbing in that outfit,_ he thought.

Suddenly Rose looked menacing, and with swift, precise movements she had spun Sherlock around and slammed him chest first into a locker. She held fast on the back of his collar, leaning her body into him and using her leg as pressure against the back of his. Sherlock was still making sense of what just happened when he heard the unmistakeable click and felt the cool metal of handcuffs around his wrists.

"Rose," he gasped.

"Not Rose," she whispered. "Constable Rose."

Sherlock's head buzzed. What?

"You've been a bad boy," she whispered. "Don't be alarmed. I'm just going to search you."

"Um. Rose."

He felt the pressure of Rose's hand stealing around his waist, then slide down to his groin.

"Ah, that's...so..." she murmured, rubbing her hand across the fabric of his trousers, "...naughty."

"Rose," Sherlock said, with less emotion. He straightened up, which he now realised was easy to do as Rose's figure was so slight and she was unable to keep him pinned to the locker.

"Don't resist," she crooned, still massaging him. "It'll all be over..."

Sherlock suddenly turned around, breaking out of Rose's grasp.

"I said No," he said coolly, looking down at her, his full height now menacing. However, his hands were still bound behind his back.

Rose grinned, but she was not so sure of herself. "It was just a joke, Sherlock."

"I said No, yet you still persisted. That's sexual assault. Don't they teach you these things."

Rose's face fell. "I'm sorry! I didn't..."

But Sherlock turned his back on her once more and commanded, "Cuffs."

Silently Rose retrieved the key from a little leather pouch on her 'accessories' belt and unlocked the handcuffs which bound Sherlock's wrists. He turned back around to face her, and rubbed at his wrists where the handcuffs had left a red mark. He was not impressed.

"You think you know what people want don't you?" he began. "You think you can read men's desires in their erect penises. Have you seen your clientele? Have you no respect for yourself? Are you really just a repository for men's semen? How have you come to the point in your life where King fucking Kong's semen in your hair is a minor inconvenience?"

Rose had stepped back from Sherlock, her eyes wide, and her face pale as he delivered his tirade of abuse.

He regarded her for a few seconds, and when she didn't say anything, he strode over to the door and exited swiftly. As he marched down the corridor, then descended the stairs he thought, _Yep, never coming back to this establishment._


	7. Chapter 7: The Apology

**A/N: **whoops, accidentally wrote dollars instead of pounds. Updated to amend. Thanks for the pick up Petrichor!

* * *

**Chapter 7: The Apology**

"I didn't make an appointment," Sherlock stated impassively, staring down at Rose who stood shivering on his threshold.

"I know. I just came to apologise."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her. Rose quickly added, "I came by yesterday at midday. I cancelled my lunch, but your landlady said you were out."

"I _was_ out."

"So... can I come in? It's a bit cold out here."

"I thought you came to apologise."

"I did. I'm sorry." Then she added, "I'm sorry I didn't respect your wishes."

Sherlock thought for a moment, as if digesting her words. "Apology accepted."

He shut the door, leaving Rose on the pavement.

He mounted the stairs, two at a time, then went back to his laptop which was resting on a side table beside his armchair. He sighed as he read an email from Lestrade at Scotland Yard. Missing Turner masterpiece. Dull. He quickly scanned the rest of his emails. Dull, boring, repetitive. Then he heard the sound of the downstairs door opening, and voices on the stairwell. Next he heard the regular cadence of his flatmate's footsteps, interspersed with lighter, swifter steps.

"Look who I found shivering outside on our doorstep," John beamed, striding into the living room followed by Rose. "Isn't the doorbell working?"

"Evidentally not," Sherlock replied, drawing his lips in a thin line, his eyes following Rose's movements into his flat.

"Hi," she said shyly. "Um, I just came to ask your and John's permission to include your full names in my bibliography."

"An email would've sufficed," Sherlock muttered, looking back at his screen.

John shot him a look. "He means 'Yes'. Ah, tea?" he asked Rose as Sherlock tutted.

"Thanks."

Rose walked over to Sherlock and sat opposite him in John's armchair. Sherlock looked up and frowned at her.

"Just going to the bathroom. Back in a tick," John said, hastening upstairs.

Sherlock scowled, then tried to stare more intently at his screen, pretending Rose wasn't there.

"I was thinking of doing something for you by way of an apology."

Sherlock sighed. "_Doing_ something for me?"

"Sucking you off until you come, something like that."

She said it so casually that Sherlock wasn't sure he heard her correctly. He glanced nervously at the door John had left through. "Is everything sex-related to you?"

"That's our only connection."

"Well, no thank you. Anyway, John's home."

"I can do him too if you like."

Sherlock looked up at her. She was serious. She was offering herself as easily as one would volunteer to buy a packet of crisps for you from a vending machine. He narrowed his eyes at her, and spoke in a low voice, "Why are you so intent on getting my forgiveness? What do you care what I think of you? Is it the money? The income you perceive you've lost because I'll no longer be your client?"

Rose leaned back in John's chair, thinking. "To be honest, yes. I was counting on that two hundred pounds. I need it. I barely make two hundred in an entire Saturday night. And you know what I have to put up with to get that. Two hundred from you is easy money."

"Easy?" Sherlock replied, looking at her suspiciously.

"You hardly need me to do anything. You're clean, and ... decent - respectful, and you like to talk. Which is quite pleasant. I can relax with you. One hour in your company would be easy. We'd probably only fuck twice in that time." She looked away for a moment. "You said you appreciate my honesty, so there it is. I need the money."

Sherlock just stared at her, and opened his mouth to reply when he heard John returning.

John cleared his throat. He wondered what Shelley and Sherlock had been discussing which left an air of tension in the room. _God, Sherlock was a rude bastard sometimes, _he thought.

Rose stood up, and walked around the chair to the kitchen. Sherlock looked up in a panic.

"Can I help with anything?" she asked John.

"Er, no, I think I'm right here. So..." he asked conversationally pouring the tea as Rose examined Sherlock's apparatus on the sideboard, "Are you working? It's a tough gig being a student these days."

Sherlock almost choked at John's question.

"Part-time," Rose said slowly, looking up at Sherlock while John's back was turned.

"Helping...people..." she added, staring at Sherlock, her mouth forming a sly smile.

"Oh?" remarked John in interest.

"People who can't get up...themselves. The elderly mostly. Those who can't get out and about. I do shopping for them, that sort of thing."

"Oh, that's pretty decent of you," John commented, walking over to her and handing her a tea cup. "Shall we sit?"

"Here is fine."

Rose perched herself onto a bar stool, positioned to face Sherlock, while John leant against the kitchen table facing Rose. Sherlock glared at them both.

"So what do you like to do in your spare time, John?" Rose asked innocently.

"Huh," John managed a small chuckle, "When I'm not chasing this one," he indicated Sherlock, "around the country-side after criminals I like to have a quiet cuppa and read a book."

"Lovely," replied Rose. "And do you spend much time with your...girlfriend?"

Sherlock shot her daggers.

"Ah," remarked John. "I think I made my last girlfriend a bit angry."

"Oh, I can't imagine why," Rose replied, giving John a sweet smile.

He grinned back at her. "No, I tried to crawl back to her by offering to walk her dog... then I realised it was my previous girlfriend who had the dog."

Rose laughed at this and leant over to touch John's arm. "That's so charming!" she remarked.

Sherlock was horrified, so he commented, "Don't forget that lovely doctor you met in Dartmoor, John. Dr. Mortimer wasn't it? John likes the intelligent, classy type. Women with high morals and intelligence."

"Yes, thank you," John said turning his head to Sherlock. "I didn't think you paid much attention to my dating life."

"And how about you, Sherlock?" Rose asked.

"Huh, Sherlock doesn't date," John remarked. "He's married to his work. Can't you tell?"

"Got any cash on you, John?" Sherlock asked suddenly.

"Er, what?"

"Cash? Or are you broke again...sending money to that sister of yours. John never has any money left to spend on his own entertainment," he said, directing his last statement to Rose.

John turned around and stared at Sherlock as if he'd gone mad.

"Well," said Rose, hopping off the stool. "I should get going."

"Oh," commented John, feeling a tad disappointed.

"Thank you for the tea, John. So, I can put Doctor John Watson, M.D. on my bibliography then?"

"Yes, that will do."

"_Doctor_. Wonderful," stated Rose. She looked over at Sherlock. "Walk me out?" she asked.

John looked at her, confused.

"Sure," said Sherlock, rising from his chair. John looked curiously from one to the other.

"Bye, John. Lovely to see you again," Rose said warmly.

"Yes, good luck with your paper. Look forward to reading it one day."

"Of course. I'll email you a copy." She smiled then made her way over to the door where Sherlock stood waiting for her.

She started down the stairs as John said quietly, "Uh, Sherlock."

"Yes?"

"Just...be...careful."

"What?"

"I don't think she's..."

"What?"

"Just read between the lines, okay?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"I'll...talk to you when you get back up."

Sighing, Sherlock descended the staircase after Rose.

He closed the door after them and stared at Rose, whose back was turned. She finally turned around to face him, wiping tears from her eyes.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at her and scowled. "That doesn't work on me," he stated simply.

"Oh shut it!" she replied, sniffing. "Nothing works on you. You're an emotionless android."

"He'd never pay for sex."

"They all pay for sex eventually. They just don't know it."

Sherlock looked away from Rose, scanning the street, watching everybody going about their business while he was negotiating with a prostitute on his doorstep. He looked back down at her and said, "One hundred and fifty pounds."

She gazed back at him for a few seconds before responding. "I don't think that's worth my while."

"Fine," he said, and stepped back towards his threshold, putting his hand on the door in an effort to leave her.

"Thirty seven point five percent," she said.

"What?"

"Thirty seven point five percent is how much I get to keep. I keep thirty dollars out of the eighty you give me at Mark's place. Not including your tip."

"So how much would you get out of three hundred, for an hour's work there?"

"One twenty."

"That's...extortion," Sherlock commented.

"Which is why two hundred with you is so..."

A fresh stream of tears made their way down her face. "An hour spent with you could mean I don't have to do Saturday nights..." she whispered.

Sherlock sighed and looked skyward. He didn't like to be played. But he _did_ want to have sex in the comfort of his own bedroom.

"One eighty," he said softly. "And stop flirting with John."

* * *

Sex in flat, take two.

John was at work. Sherlock knew this as he had watched him go. John's shift was to start at eight. He had left at seven thirty. Sherlock's appointment with Rose was at nine. Morning sex. A good start to the day. And if John for some reason didn't leave for work and was still at home by 8:30, Sherlock could leave Rose a text sent to a mobile she only kept for the purpose's of her sex work. Sherlock had the privilege of being the first client to be in possession of this private phone number.

"Don't ever ring me for a 'chat'. The phone will be turned off until one hour before an appointment time. And I'll only check it intermittently throughout the day," she had warned him.

Sherlock wasn't as nervous as the first time he'd waited for her at home, since Rose had already been in their flat twice before, and he felt a little bit more in control. He was doing her a favour as much as she was doing him.

Doing him a favour, that is.

Well, and doing him.

John's warning seemed a bit odd, although Sherlock wasn't sure how much John had read in between what Sherlock had considered to be very brief and curt interactions between himself and Rose/Shelley. John subtly tried to suggest that Shelley was trying to lead Sherlock on in order to get more information out of him for her research paper. Sherlock seized on that idea and gave John the impression that Shelley was trying to sweet talk Sherlock into letting her accompany him on a new case or two for the purposes of her paper, and he kept rebuffing her.

He was standing at the kitchen counter, slowly reading a newspaper - no, not really reading it - turning the pages slowly as his mind wandered, when his doorbell buzzed. He sprinted downstairs before Mrs Hudson could get it.

"Hi!" she said, happily.

"Hefty load," he commented, indicating her bag full of books, as they made their way upstairs.

"I'm going to uni straight after. Busy day."

They entered the living room, with Rose watching curiously as Sherlock locked the door behind her. He saw her looking and commented, "Landlady."

"Oh. Well, I just need to, ah, freshen up? Can I use your bathroom?"

"Yes, it's just through here. You can access it through my bedroom," Sherlock gestured, striding through the kitchen with Rose following him.

"Thanks. I guess I'm already prepared for your visit at Mark's, but here I'll have to spend a bit of time getting ready. We can start the timer after I'm out if you like?"

Sherlock frowned. "I'd prefer you didn't use that timer. It irritates me. Can't we just look at the clock and add an hour?"

"It's just a way of ensuring there's no confusion. The timer goes off, we both hear it, and that way nobody gets mistaken."

"Or we could just look at the clock and say it's nine oh two now, so we should stop at ten oh two."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at Rose, fully confident at his own logical way of thinking.

"I'll just set the timer. It's how I work. Let's not change the arrangement now."

"We didn't have any arrangement regarding the timer."

"We had an arrangement to keep the same conditions as at Mark's."

Sherlock stared at her, already starting to feel tense at not being able to get his own way in his bedroom of all places.

"Fine," he said eventually.

"Thanks!" she replied, and entered his bathroom.

Sherlock closed his bedroom door, then began undressing. He was naked and ready for Rose once she had finished in the bathroom. She was dressed as she usually did in the brothel - wrapped in her dressing gown. Without really thinking about it, Sherlock lightly pulled his bed sheet over his lower half.

"I love your bedroom," she remarked, walking around the bed to the shelves which adorned the far wall. "It's almost as interesting as your living room with all these artefacts." She shrugged her dressing gown from her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor as she picked up a small wooden carving from the shelf. Carefully stroking the polished surface with her thumb she turned to Sherlock and raised her eyebrows.

"German," he stated.

"Mmm," she mused, and replaced the carving. She browsed the remaining shelves as if she were in a supermarket.

"This looks rather ancient," she commented, picking up a tattered-looking book.

"From Persia. A first edition."

"Oh," she said, flipping through the novel. "And how do these things get to be in your possession?" she asked, replacing the book.

"Work. Cases I solve for people who can't pay."

"Really?" Rose remarked, picking up a wooden dart gun and running her fingers along the black design, carved by burning sticks. "Does it work?"

"Never tried it."

Sherlock watched Rose as she slowly moved along the shelf. He cleared his throat. "Are we going to get started?" he asked.

Rose looked at him for a moment, a sly smile spreading across her face. "We have."

Sherlock looked at her, perplexed, as Rose walked seductively back around the bed.

"Pull your sheet down," and when Sherlock didn't, Rose gently slid it across the bed and away from his legs, revealing Sherlock's full arousal.

"Oh, my," she whispered, "Visual stimulation."

"That's not conclusive," Sherlock replied, his voice hoarse with emotion.

"Same?"

"Mmm," he murmured, lying down fully and feeling perfectly relaxed against his own pillow, amongst his own things, in his own bedroom. And once Rose had commenced he even put his hands down, tangling his fingers in Rose's hair, which took her by surprise.

Sherlock got so carried up in the process that he couldn't bring himself to stop her as he normally did. She's going for the apology, he thought curiously, then he moaned, almost passing the point of no return. Then Rose stopped.

"Keep going?" she whispered.

"No, no..." Sherlock replied almost inaudibly. He grabbed at where he expected the condom to be and found ... nothing.

"Oh, Jesus! Sorry!" Rose cried, hopping off the bed and diving into her bag which lay just outside the bathroom door. "Haven't established a routine yet," she muttered to herself.

In quick time she had the condom out of its wrapper and had slipped it over Sherlock's erection. Before he even gasped, she had mounted him. And before she had even established a regular rhythm, he was already moaning and pulling at her.

Game over.


	8. Chapter 8: Challenge No 1

**Chapter 8: Challenge #1**

"Of course that's because you lingered too long down there," Sherlock said defensively a few minutes later, of his first ever sexual encounter in his bedroom.

"It's okay for it to be different each time," Rose said gently.

"I don't like surprises," Sherlock stated. He rose from the bed and disappeared into his bathroom for a minute, and returned wearing an old grey t-shirt and long stripey grey pyjama pants.

"Tea, biscuits?" Sherlock asked Rose, who was still lounging on his bed and picking something out of her fingernails.

"Um...yes?" answered Rose, thinking that was the correct answer.

"Well, you'll have to cover yourself up a bit," Sherlock said, waving his hand at her and disappearing through his door.

"Oh...are we going out there?" asked Rose, but Sherlock was already gone.

Rose wrapped herself in her dressing gown again and made her way out into the kitchen where Sherlock was busying himself with making tea.

"Do clients often visit you in your home?" she asked, making her way into the living room.

"Now and again," he answered.

"And how much do you charge?" she asked, scanning the mantelpiece.

"That's confidential," he smirked.

Rose shot him a look, then went to sit down in his grey leather armchair by the fire. Sherlock walked over to the chairs, carrying two tea cups and stopped short, glaring at Rose.

"_Your_ chair?" she asked.

"Yes."

Rose stood up and moved over to John's overstuffed armchair. Sherlock placed a teacup on a side table next to Rose, and the other on a small table next to his chair.

"Biscuits?" he asked.

"Biscuits?"

"Biscuits," Sherlock repeated. "I think John hid some somewhere," he said thoughtfully.

"You mean real biscuits?"

"Yes, what did you think I meant?" Sherlock called back from the kitchen floor, where he was reaching into the bowels of a lower cupboard, quite confident that this was where John had hidden the biscuits. _Bingo!_

He triumphantly walked back into the living room with the packet. Rose was staring at him, with a look of amusement on her face.

"You really meant tea and biscuits, didn't you?"

Sherlock looked at Rose, puzzled. Had he gone mad?

"Tea and biscuits. Yes. Are you a savage? Have you not heard of this?"

Rose laughed. "I thought this was some sort of odd sex game."

Sherlock was incredulous. "What kind of world do you live in?"

"A world where men pay me to have sex and dress up and indulge in all sorts of sexual fantasies. Yes, I thought tea and biscuits was a euphemism for something sexual."

"Well where I come from tea and biscuits is tea," he indicated Rose's cup, "and biscuits." He raised the packet and his eyebrows at the same time.

"I know. But you are paying me to be here."

Sherlock's face fell. "Don't you want tea?"

"Yes!" Rose picked up her tea cup. "Definitely. Not the biscuits though, thank you. I'm watching my weight."

"Oh," Sherlock commented, sitting down in his chair. "It looks like you've lost a couple of pounds since we first met. Mostly around your waist and your breasts," he said matter-of-factly, waving his hand at her as if she didn't know where her breasts were.

Rose stopped drinking mid-sip and smiled. They sat there in silence for a few minutes, sipping tea, with Sherlock drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair and occasionally shooting Rose questioning glances.

"Are you wearing your pyjamas?" she asked eventually.

"Yes."

"Cute."

"Cute?"

"Yes. I've only ever seen you in a suit... or... nothing. This is a cute look for you."

"I'm not trying to be 'cute'. I'm trying to be comfortable."

They went back to sipping their tea again.

"Why don't you date?" Rose asked eventually.

"It's not really my area."

"Doesn't have to be an 'area'. It just happens."

"I don't see the point. All that matters to me is my work. Physiological needs are secondary. Eating, sleeping...sex."

"I'm not talking about sex. I'm talking about relationships. It's a psychological need."

"The only mental stimulation I need is the work. The cases."

"But you enjoy our conversations, you said. And you have a flatmate who shares your cases with you. There must be something in that other than rent relief."

"That's not the same as dating."

"It may be the same. It may be closer than you think. All that could be missing is the sex."

"With John?!" Sherlock asked, horrified.

"With anyone. All I'm saying is, you're probably more capable of dating than you realise."

Sherlock looked away, then looked down thoughtfully before returning his gaze to Rose.

"How about you?" he asked. "Do you date? Is it even possible in your line of work?"

"That's a personal question."

"Oh, we're back to that. Well, I already know you're a student and your major is psychology. A mature age student so you've done other things in your life. Only one other person apart from me knows you're both a student and a prostitute so I assume that would be Mark since he himself admitted to me that he dropped out of university recently when he found he could make more money running his establishment full time. Highly likely you knew him from there. So... nobody else you study or live with knows you moonlight as a sex worker. You're moderately attractive, and slightly intelligent - I can see young men asking you out on dates quite frequently. Do you say 'yes' or are you sick of the sight of males lusting after you? Do you bat for the other team? Perhaps. You wanted to give me a freebie, so you must like sex for the sake of sex. Are you in a steady relationship? To answer that question I need to see the underwear you changed out of."

Rose sat in the armchair staring at Sherlock, her tea cup posed to take a sip from, although she hadn't during Sherlock's monologue.

"My underwear?"

"Yes."

"I think that falls under the category of personal details."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her. "The jacket you were wearing..."

"What about it?"

"It's covered in cat hair. You're a cat person. The hair doesn't bother you. You dump your jacket down wherever, your bed probably, and your cat lies on it. It likes your scent. You must be the one who looks after it, wherever you live, whoever you live with."

Rose smirked.

Sherlock continued, "The chain you wore around your neck when you came in.. A pendant of half a love heart. Who has the other half? Could be a former lover, not a current one. People tend to hang onto things. Sentiment. Your bag of books. With the keychain hanging off it. The kind you pick up when you buy of packet of cigarettes. You don't smoke..."

"What's the point of all this?" Rose interrupted him, looking slightly amused.

"The point is...this is all from one visit from you. One glance into your personal life. You arrived here this morning, in all your private glory. You. Rose. Not Shelley. You didn't arrive naked on my doorstep. This is what I do for a living. A client shows up at my door, ready to dump all of their personal woes on me, and I've already read their profession in their demeanor, their health in their gait and their lies in their fidgeting fingers."

Rose stopped picking her nails in that instant.

"You asked me not to ask you personal questions, but you've just answered half of them by showing up."

Rose stood up, her eyes shining brightly. She unwrapped her robe, and let it fall open as she moved over and knelt down in front of Sherlock.

"That was amazing," she whispered. "Can you read me now?" she asked seductively, sliding her hand across Sherlock's thigh.

Conversation over.

There was something oddly familiar about this scenario, Sherlock thought.

_Irene Adler. The Woman._

The woman who'd called him a virgin. She wore a dressing gown, his dressing gown, although it wasn't open, as she asked him if he'd ever had anyone. She tried, delicately, to seduce him with an obscure invitation to dinner. And he wasn't turned on, not one bit. Was that because he never had anyone? No experience to draw from? In contrast to this very moment, where he'd had Rose quite a few times now and her open robe was very revealing. The combination of visual stimuli and memories of their sexual encounters to draw on now, he was easily aroused by her.

Sherlock straightened up, and reached down to Rose's shoulder. He pulled at the dressing gown, letting it slip over her shoulder revealing more of her breasts. Rose shrugged off the remainder of the gown, so that she knelt completely naked in front of Sherlock.

Rose's heart skipped a beat. This was the first time Sherlock had ever wanted to see more of her by taking the initiative.

Sherlock leant forward, and with one hand, gently caressed Rose's neck, entwining his fingers into the back of her hair. His other hand stole to the hand Rose was gliding over his thigh, not quite all the way to his groin yet. She was teasing him. Sherlock's fingers slid along her wrist as he lowered his face to hers.

_No, don't kiss me_, thought Rose, her breathing grew shallow. _Yes, kiss me!_

But Sherlock didn't. He brought his face closer to hers, then whispered triumphantly in her ear, "You're aroused!"

Rose stopped what she was doing. His baritone voice whispering in her ear caused a sensation right through her body, and then she noted his actual words. She slowly stood up. Her face had fallen, she swallowed and turned, walking swiftly toward Sherlock's bedroom.

"Rose?" Sherlock called, confused.

He followed her into his room where he found she had grabbed her bag and had locked herself in his bathroom.

"Rose?" he called softly through the door.

"I have to leave. This is not acceptable," she called back, her voice clearly reflecting her emotional state.

Sherlock looked at his bedside clock. "We've got 25 minutes left."

Rose opened the bathroom door. She was in her underwear and a shirt which was still unbuttoned.

"If I'm at any stage made to feel uncomfortable, you have to leave. And since you can't leave, then I have to."

"Uncomfortable?" Sherlock asked. "You were far from uncomfortable. You were aroused. Isn't that a good thing?" He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"You made me feel uncomfortable by pointing that out."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "And if I made the tea too hot and you burnt your tongue, would you storm out then, claiming discomfort?"

Rose regarded him for a moment, just as Sherlock quickly scanned her.

"No boyfriend then," he remarked, eyeing her underwear.

"What?" Rose exclaimed, suddenly holding her shirt closed and feeling exposed.

"_Now_ you're feeling modest?"

Rose stepped backward into the bathroom and shut the door again.

"Go away!" she yelled through it.

"I'm not paying for the full hour!" Sherlock yelled back.

There was silence, then she opened the door again. "You have to!"

"Where is that written?"

"It's understood! You hired me for one hour minimum, so you have to pay me one hour minimum."

"Then you have to stay!"

"Not if you've upset me!"

"Now you've upset me! I have half an erection! Don't I get a refund? You haven't serviced your client! I don't get paid for solving half a case!"

"Now you're being a bully!" Rose stomped her foot as she said, "I _knew_ there was a reason I didn't do call-outs!" She crossed her arms.

Sherlock grinned slightly as Rose's mini-tantrum.

Rose looked down at Sherlock's small, but visible bulge in his pyjamas, and suddenly burst into laughter. She covered her mouth with her hands and walked out of the bathroom.

"I'm sorry!" she said, while still laughing. "You still have a... sort of erection."

Sherlock put his hands on his hips and frowned at her. "That's your doing."

Rose regarded Sherlock for a moment. "Okay, I'll stay," she said smiling. "On one condition."

"What's that?" Sherlock asked, looking at Rose suspiciously.

"You have to undress me."

"Why?"

"Just an idea that came to me."

"And if you get aroused again?"

"Kindly don't point it out. And anyway, I won't. You caught me off guard. You don't normally try to undress me."

"That's because you're usually naked."

"That was your request, remember?"

"But now you _want_ me to undress you."

"It's another experience for you. You have to once in your life learn how to unhook a woman's bra. Learning how to do it with one hand is even better."

Sherlock smiled slyly. He loved a challenge. Something he could perfect and be the best at.

"One handed, you say?"

* * *

"Again," Rose gasped as her bra popped open.

She reached back and fastened it again as Sherlock chuckled to himself. He had easily managed the one-handed bra unclasping challenge, his deft handiwork even impressing Rose.

"Now don't forget some bras fasten at the front, so if the strap feels smooth back there, then the clasp is most likely in the front. And if there's no clasp at all, then don't fuck her!"

"Why?" Sherlock asked, managing the task for the fifth time without effort.

"Because it means she's very practical and not worth the fuck."

Sherlock looked down at Rose's face as she grinned up at him. That statement meant nothing to him. And although he had met the challenge, he couldn't actually see how it would be useful to him at all. Just where was he going to meet all these women with bra fastener mystery locations that he would be interested in having sex with? Such a scenario was so not on the horizon for him.

"Now finish taking it off," Rose said.

Sherlock grasped both shoulder straps and pulled them downwards, slightly jerking Rose forward in the process.

"Ow, hey, slowly! Try that again."

"What's the problem?" Sherlock asked, bending down and picking up Rose's bra.

"Slowly and sensually."

Sherlock shrugged and raised his eyebrows, not understanding. He held out the bra as Rose put her arms through the straps, then fastened it at the back again.

"When you pulled my dressing gown off my shoulder earlier, why did you do that?"

"I wanted to see your breasts a bit better."

"Why?"

"Because...they reminded me of having sex with you and just seeing only part of them got me aroused."

"Good," Rose responded, looking at Sherlock rather proudly. "Just a hint was enough to get you aroused. So, taking my bra off slowly is a bit like that. A hint at first, then more is revealed. It's a turn on for you. That's why at the beginning of our first ever session I started undressing _slowly_ for you. Remember that?"

Sherlock thought for a moment. "Oh!" he exclaimed, enlightened at last. "A hint!" he added, his eyes sparkling. "The expectation. A promise of what's to come!"

Rose laughed. "Yes. A promise. Again? And this time let me take your t-shirt off next, okay?"

"Ready," said Sherlock, brow furrowed, waggling his fingers as if to warm them up.

Rose bit the inside of her cheeks to prevent herself from laughing.

Sherlock moved toward her again, hands extended.

"Wait!" Rose said suddenly.

"What now?"

"Just do it as you're embracing me. It kind of goes with making out...which we're not going to do, so just hug me."

Sherlock tutted and rolled his eyes. He moved closer to Rose, pulling her in for a hug as she put her arms around his neck. Rose found herself in the uncomfortable position of getting goosebumps with the unfamiliar feeling of Sherlock gently embracing her, caressing her back and breathing lightly onto her neck. One hand ran down sensually along her spine, as the other had effortlessly unclasped her bra. She hadn't instructed him to run his hand down her back like that? A quick breath out from Sherlock told her that he had grinned in triumph.

"I distracted you with what my left hand was doing," he whispered in her ear, sending more shivers up and down her body.

Rose closed her eyes and thought, _Get a grip, Rose, this is not about you! _To Sherlock she whispered back, "Yes, I felt what you do there."

Slowly pulling out of the embrace, Sherlock gently glided his hands up to Rose's shoulder blades, then along her shoulders, slipping the straps off along with them. Rose dropped her arms from around Sherlock's neck so that her bra slid away from her and fell to the floor. Rose then slid her arms under Sherlock's t-shirt, edging it up, and caressing his torso then his back at the same time.

Rose knew her heart rate was going to increase the moment Sherlock returned his arms around her. He was copying what she was doing to him - caressing her bare back. And she could feel his breath on her neck again. _God, that feels so good,_ she thought. Not the grabbing, rubbing demanding touch most of her clients had. _Stop it Rose, stop enjoying him!_

She quickly pulled Sherlock's shirt up, and he obediently raised his arms which meant they were no longer touching her back, thank goodness - she thought, as she lifted the shirt over his head. Now his hair was all tousled. _My sweet Lord_, thought Rose, immediately wanted to run her hands through his curls. _What's wrong with me?_

"Okay, excellent," she said, stepping back as if the cameras had stopped rolling and it was time to have a tea break. "Let's just finish this off okay? You're erect? Good. Let's just do this."

She reached into her bag and slapped a condom packet down onto Sherlock's bedside table. Then she pulled her knickers down and stepped out of them as Sherlock tilted his head slightly wondering why it had all ended so abruptly. He was really enjoying himself.

"What?"

Rose sat on the bed and moved to the middle, knees bent and looked at Sherlock expectantly.

"Come on, pants off." She patted the mattress.

"Oh, I thought we were doing the slow and sensual thing," he commented, pulling his pj bottoms down.

"We were. Great job! Next week, we'll work on knickers and boxers!" she exclaimed with fake enthusiasm.

Sherlock eyed her suspiciously then got into bed next to her.

"Same again?" she said, smiling at him.

"No," he said. "Straight to phase three." He reached beside him and grabbed at the condom, passing it to her. At her puzzled look, he stated, "Phase one is you sucking me off, phase two is you on top, and phase three is me on top. I missed out earlier."

Rose smiled faintly, lay back, wrapped her legs around Sherlock as he positioned himself on top of her, then she expertly ripped opened the packet and rolled the condom over Sherlock's full erection while he'd tilted to the side.

"Um, shouldn't we...oh!" _I guess he counts unclasping my bra half a dozen times as suitable foreplay,_ Rose thought as Sherlock entered her. _Thank goodness for extra lube condoms._

Sherlock's breath was upon her neck again, and as she moved in time with him, gently pulling on his hips, she imagined, again, running her fingers through that perfectly tousled hair. And instead of his breath cooling her neck, she imagined his kisses, maybe little nibbles (_no biting, remember!_) and... _what's he doing with his hand?_

One of Sherlock's hands was positioned on her side, which he then ever so carefully slid upwards, stopping on the side of her breast. His thumb then gently caressed her there, lightly flicking over her nipple.

Rose's breathing grew shallower as she swore she felt Sherlock's lips brush her neck, not just his breath. Without thinking too much at all, she tilted her pelvis into him, so that she could really feel him.

_Just there - oh - you - wonderful, gorgeous - oh!_

Rose's hands were suddenly in his hair. She pressed his head down so there would be no doubt in her mind that his lips were now on her neck. And his hand was now fully massaging her breast, as ripples of pleasure ran up and down her body.

Sherlock was moaning now. _Oh my God,_ thought Rose in a panic. She tilted her pelvis again so she was no longer in danger. Her hands ran along Sherlock's back to his hips and buttocks so she could help him climax. It couldn't be about her now. _What a fucking idiot. Nearly lost it there._

With a final few thrusts, Sherlock had finished. Rose swallowed hard, her heart still beating wildly. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck as his body relaxed on top of her. She still cradled him with her thighs. Sherlock was still breathing into her neck as he whispered, "Rose, let go now."

"Sorry," she replied, unwinding her arms.

He rolled off and lay down next to her, still breathing hard.

"Excellent," he whispered.


	9. Chapter 9: Challenge No 2

**Chapter 9: Challenge #2**

"I've just read about you in the paper!"

"Mmm," Sherlock commented, unimpressed that he had had to attend a presentation ceremony after having recovered the stolen Turner masterpiece.

Rose followed him upstairs. She felt slightly apprehensive and slightly excited. She found herself looking forward to the week rolling around again, when she had her next call out to Sherlock's flat. She tried to tell herself it was because the money was good, and it required little effort on her part.

Sherlock was also mildly excited. He'd thoroughly enjoyed the sex in his flat, plus the bra challenge. He'd of course noticed all the signs that Rose had once again become aroused when they were having sex last time. But he made sure not to point out that fact. He wanted to make that happen again. He'd done his research. Call it challenge #2.

"Have you read it?" Rose asked, pulling the folded newspaper from her bag.

"Uh. No. Probably rubbish; probably all wrong."

Sherlock stopped to lock the door to his flat to prevent Mrs Hudson from entering, and calling out "Woo hoo?" while they were in the throes of passion.

"Perhaps," continued Rose. "They've called you an amateur detective?"

Sherlock scoffed as he walked through his living room. "Morons."

"And they say it's your 'hobby'," Rose read, as she followed Sherlock into his bedroom.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "They would."

He shut his bedroom door after Rose had entered.

"I'll leave it for you," she said, dropping the newspaper onto the bed, then preceding into the bathroom to change. She called out, "Leave your pyjamas on!"

Sherlock had remained in his pjs that morning. He couldn't see the point in getting dressed yet - not with his morning session of sex with a prostitute booked in for nine o'clock. John had inquired, "I thought you were going to get started on that missing banker case?"

John knew that Sherlock usually stayed in pyjamas when he was bored and didn't have a case. Sherlock had muttered something about ironing his shirt, which John found odd. _Don't the dry cleaners iron his shirts? Do we even have an iron?_

Sherlock picked up the paper and read the headline. "Hero of the Reichenbach", it said, with the sub-heading, "Turner masterpiece recovered by 'amateur'". He threw the paper down on his bedside table in disgust, and flopped down onto the bed to wait for Rose. She eventually re-entered the room, wrapped in her dressing gown. She reached into her bag and retrieved two condom packets and placed them on the bedside table.

"I'm wearing my undergarments," she said, a glint in her eyes.

"Oh good," Sherlock replied, standing up. He was semi-aroused himself at the thought of his next challenge.

He had spent the last few days researching sexual arousal in females, once he'd finished with the Reichenbach case. He felt almost giddy with excitement at the prospect of putting into practise the knowledge he had obtained through careful study.

Rose made to unwrap her dressing gown, when Sherlock said, "No, don't! I'll do that!"

"Oh, okay," Rose replied, loosely tying up the sash. His enthusiasm took her by surprise.

Rose stood still, waiting for Sherlock's first move. She was confused when he walked slowly around her and stood behind her. Gently placing his hands on each of her arms, just below her shoulders, he drew her back into his body. With one hand, he carefully swept her hair aside, and bent his head. She could feel his breath on her neck, and once more, she closed her eyes and enjoyed his close touch. He then slid both hands down her arms, then over the fabric of her robe to her waist and the sash.

Sherlock was aware that his own heart rate was increasing and he made sure Rose could feel his hardness as he pressed against her. His hands found the sash and made light work of untying it. As Rose's robe fell open, he moved back slightly, and gently lifted the robe from her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor.

Sherlock then walked around to face Rose, drew her in close for an embrace, as he'd practised last time. He slipped his hands around to her back, one hand caressing her, the other feeling for the clasp at the back. It wasn't there! She'd tricked him! Without missing a beat, Sherlock's right hand caressed Rose's skin underneath her bra, sliding around her torso to the front. He felt in between her cleavage as Rose breathed out, stifling a laugh.

Sherlock tutted, them moved away slightly so he could look at the clasp.

"It's a different kind of hook!" he remarked irritably.

"Almost had it," encouraged Rose.

His hand still underneath Rose's cleavage, he deftly squeezed his thumb and index finger as the bra popped open. Rose gasped as Sherlock moved in closer yet again, his breath on her neck then...

... his hand stole up under the open bra, taking in her breast and massaging it as he started kissing her neck.

_Oh my sweet Lord, no!_ thought Rose, electricity running through her. Her hands automatically found his hair again. She lost herself in the moment. She needed more. More of him.

She moaned.

She froze.

She pushed him away.

"That's... that's enough now. Good, you undid the hook."

She turned from him and shed the bra.

"Don't I get to finish?" Sherlock asked in a low voice. He knew what he'd done. He knew exactly what happened then. He was not going to point it out though.

"Let's start," Rose said, turning around again, but not meeting Sherlock's gaze. "Take your pyjamas off."

"I thought you were going to do that?"

"Um, yeah, maybe after...tea time."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her. All her confidence was shot. He suddenly felt bad. _Best continue in a more predictable fashion_, he thought. _Just for now._ But deep inside he wanted to yell, "I'm on fire!"

He swiftly removed his pyjamas as Rose took off her knickers. Sherlock lay down on the bed, expectantly, as if this were day one again. _Let Rose take the upper hand - try again later,_ he mused.

They moved through Sherlock's phase one and phase two, finally arriving at phase three.

_This is where I lost it,_ thought Rose as Sherlock re-entered her after they'd swapped positions. _He's a client. A man who can't get a girlfriend paying me to have sex with him. Paying me. He's paying for it. Because otherwise I wouldn't look at him twice, would I? Paying for it, Rose. Say it. And whatever you do, don't look into his eyes. Those...eyes._

_Oh!_

_God!_

And then Sherlock bent his head and was kissing her neck again, while he was fucking her. She lifted her chin, giving him more of an area to kiss. He was using his tongue as well. _It felt so good... but...how? Had he been taking lessons from somebody else? The asshole!_

That was enough to bring Rose back to her senses. Kind of angry now, she couldn't enjoy herself. Shouldn't anyway. For fuck's sake, she was a professional.

_Who was Sherlock seeing? Not Maria. She wouldn't tolerate his rude demands. Not...Tessa? She was young and naive. Sherlock would confuse her with his intellect. Who then?_

Rose continued helping Sherlock with his phase three, more or less mechanically now that her mind was employed elsewhere. Sherlock, on the other hand, was bewildered. He thought it was going well - Rose was starting to respond...but now she was frowning. _What happened?_

He needed to increase his tempo now, for his own happy ending, but...Rose?

_Oh! _His mind raced through the list of erogenous zones. _More breast action_, he thought. _Nipples too._

Rose wondered why Sherlock had slowed down a little. He began kissing her neck again, but then he slowly started navigating toward her chest as he rocked into her ever so gently.

_Damn! _Rose thought. _Not Tessa then as she hates anyone doing..._

_...that..._

_...with their..._

_Oh, my Lord..._

_...tongue..._

Sherlock had pulled out of her as his escapades continued lower.

"Um...Sherlock?" Rose heard herself say - her voice seemed to come from far away.

"Sher-

"-lock!"

"What's wrong?" He stopped his practical research and looked up at Rose.

Rose looked down at him. His hair was incredibly messy. _How did it get that way? _Oh, of course, Rose had gotten quite carried away.

"I've got to...ah...go to the bathroom. Sorry. Bathroom emergency."

"What?"

Sherlock moved aside so Rose could climb off the bed. She hurried into his ensuite, slamming the door behind her.

Sherlock wasn't stupid. He knew what had happened. Again. But then again, he _was_ stupid. _He_ was the one left lying on his bed with an erection.

Rose put the lid down on the toilet seat and sat on top of it, holding her head in her hands. _Fuck! I really need to get laid. Not with a client though!_

_Dumb bitch._

She just wanted to leave. She should leave. This was totally unprofessional, but so was leaving. Did Sherlock know what he was doing? Of course he must. He knew exactly what he was doing last week when he was sitting in his armchair and she was kneeling in front of him.

He knows now, and he's not saying anything. Because she told him not to say anything. She didn't say 'Don't turn me on,' because that's not forbidden. Getting aroused is purely her decision, and she'd lost it. No, Sherlock was definitely behaving within her guidelines: he didn't point out that she was aroused, thus making her feel uncomfortable. But she was uncomfortable now, but that was her fault. And anyway, how did he suddenly get so skilled up?

Rose got up from her seat, and opened the bathroom door. Sherlock was just putting on his pyjama bottoms.

"Are you leaving?" he asked, voicing his concern.

"Who have you been fucking?"

"What?"

"You've been having sex with someone else, haven't you?"

"No."

"You have!"

"I think I'd know."

Rose looked him up and down, with her hands on her hips. She didn't know what to think.

"Well, I should just finish you off then," she concluded.

"What?"

"Just lie down."

"No. We're having sex. It's my turn," he protested. Then he thought to himself, this is too overwhelming for her. He should've started slowly - perhaps kiss her on the neck this week, flick his tongue over her nipples the next, leave off the pièce de résistance until later. "Just let me finish. I won't do anything ... extra."

He gazed at her, a mutual understanding passed between them.

"Okay," she conceded, moving over to the bed, and lying down in the middle of it again.

Sherlock removed his pyjamas and climbed back onto the bed, and Rose.

"Oh!" they both realised.

He'd removed the condom. Rose reached over for the second packet.  
Sherlock kept his promise. No optional extras for Rose.

* * *

"Have you given up Saturday nights now?" Sherlock asked Rose as they sipped their tea, seated in the armchairs in the living room during their 'tea break'.

"Ah, no. I haven't."

"Why not?" Sherlock asked, before he could decide whether that was a personal question or not.

"I'd have to give up the whole lot Mark said. So..."

"Back to dressing up and fucking King Kong. How's he going by the way? Still managing the overflow?" Sherlock asked, plain-faced, taking a sip of his tea.

Rose laughed, in spite of herself. It was her fault, really. She couldn't tell Sherlock off for the personal nature of this discussion when she had brought him 'behind the scenes' at the brothel.

"He, ah, asked for another hostess. I don't see him anymore, thank God."

"Why?"

"Because I kind of yelled at him."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Bad week?"

"Bad hair week?"

Rose laughed again.

Sherlock grinned. "You must be rolling in money now then?"

"Hardly. I have uni debts, and...other debts."

Sherlock wanted to probe further, despite the 'no personal details' restriction. He asked, "How hard was the decision to become a prostitute in order to pay off your debts?"

Rose paused. Should she answer? He knew so much already. "Surprisingly easy."

"Why?"

"A friend and I used to go out, you know, cruise the pubs and bars, flirting with guys to pay for our drinks. Now and then, you know, you'd give them what they wanted, as a way of saying thanks. If they were cute, it didn't matter, if they weren't, well, you'd just make sure you'd had enough to drink to not care too much. Working in a brothel is not so different."

"But you're not drunk."

"I've learnt how to switch off."

_Have you?_ thought Sherlock, smiling to himself.

"But how did you come upon the idea?"

"I was flat-sharing with two other girls. When Holly decided to move out, Shelley and I were left with more rent to pay. We couldn't get anyone else interested. Shelley started working for Mark - she'd heard about him through another friend who went to uni with him. She gave me the idea."

"Shelley?" queried Sherlock.

"Shelley. My flatmate."

Sherlock smirked. "You used your flatmate's name as your alias?"

"Great idea, hey, 'John'?"

Sherlock laughed. "Must get confusing at Mark's place when someone calls out for Shelley though?"

"No, she left before I started work there, and besides, she didn't use her own name either. She's working the streets now. She says it's easier than handing money over to Mark. But I don't know. I worry about her all the time. I could never do what she's doing."

"Working the streets?" Sherlock enquired.

"Mmm. She can get twenty pounds for a hand job or thirty pounds just for giving head."

"And how many of those would she churn through in an hour?"

Rose smiled. _Churn through,_ interesting choice of words. "I don't know. She's high most of the time she does it. Hey, she thinks someone's stalking her. Do you think we could hire you to check it out? Not like she can go to the fuzz or anything."

"_Hire_ me?" Sherlock found the concept of being hired by a prostitute amusing.

"Well, she could probably pay you in kind...I'll get her to contact you?"

Rose stopped. This was probably the most personal conversation she'd had with Sherlock. Her barriers were almost non-existent today. _See, that's what happens when you almost let a client give you an orgasm, Rose!_

Noting Sherlock's look of distaste, Rose hastily changed the subject, "Are you working on any new cases now?"

"A missing banker..."

"A banker?! Oh, don't bother finding him!"

"Mmm, that's what everybody says," Sherlock replied, smirking.

"And is John helping you?"

"Now and then."

"How is he?"

"Fine," Sherlock replied, frowning.

"Girlfriend?" Rose raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"No. And don't get any ideas."

"Need to keep my options open."

"I thought we agreed you wouldn't flirt with him?"

"Flirt, no. You didn't say anything about propositioning though," Rose stated with a mischievous grin.

"He won't be interested."

"Why not?"

"Strong moral fibre. I told you."

"And you don't have any morals?"

"Morality is a set of beliefs based on principles of how people conduct themselves in interpersonal relationships and within society. My beliefs and John's beliefs are quite dissimilar. He believes in interpersonal relationships. I don't."

"I feel as if I'm in a philosophy lecture."

"We're having a semi-intelligent discussion are we not?"

"That's right. And you're paying me for it, so I'd better get my intellectual head on."

"Why must you swap? Can't you just be yourself?"

"I told you - I have to switch off sometimes. I can't bear all the slobbering and groping - fingers and hands and tongues licking and sucking and clawing at me. It fuckin' sickens me sometimes. I can't relax and be myself."

She stopped, taking in Sherlock's face. He'd gone paler than he normally was, his mouth set in a thin line and his eyes downcast. He stood up suddenly.

"Another tea?" he asked tonelessly.

"I...ah...if you are?"

_Dammit Rose! He thinks you're including his efforts in that little rant! You've hurt his feelings! I can't tell him I didn't mean him. That would be admitting I liked what he was doing - that I was aroused. But he's visibly upset!_

She stood up. _Say something._

But Sherlock spoke first, from the kitchen. He placed his empty cup down onto the kitchen bench and spoke quite quickly without making eye contact, "You know, I think we'll finish up today. Our first session was quite intense, but don't worry, I'll pay you for the full hour."

He walked off into the bedroom, leaving Rose standing at the edge of the kitchen feeling like a twat. She walked quickly through the kitchen, following Sherlock into his bedroom. He had his wallet open and was counting out the notes. Rose felt like the worst person in the world.

She found her voice at last. She spoke softly, "No, don't. Not all of it."

"Nonsense. This is business."

He dumped the cash onto his bedside table and added, "I'll leave you to get dressed. Must get to work. I've got a kidnapped banker to find."

He left the room, closing the bedroom door behind him.

Rose sat on Sherlock's bed for a full minute, her head spinning. Why is she feeling so bad? _He's a client! A client! A man who pays for sex. Just...just stop it, Rose. Stop feeling bad for the poor man. The poor, sad, man._

But he's not normally sad. He's usually full of confidence, even in the knowledge of his sexual inexperience, he was still confident and, dare she say it, arrogant. Willing to learn, to excel. How did he get so good, so quickly? And now she'd made him doubt himself. He probably thinks he's a drooling, groping, clumsy, sickening talentless fuck, when in fact he's just the opposite.

Rose looked over at the cash Sherlock had left - dumped onto a bedside table. That's what you do for hookers. Leave the cash. Walk out.

Rose was going to cry if she thought about this any longer. She picked up the pile of notes and quickly flicked through them. Two hundred pounds. Not one eighty. He'd even given her a tip! Two hundred pounds for half an hour's work.

The sex was good, but the conversation was... he would say: disappointing. Yet he still tipped. That made her feel ten times, no, a hundred times smaller.

Rose cleaned herself up in the bathroom, then dressed slowly, the heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach weighing her down. She had a whole day of lectures to face. Look on the bright side - two hundred pounds for half an hour's work. That's like: four hundred pounds an hour. She could be a high class escort at that rate!

But high class she wasn't.

The money was dumped on the table.

She was a prostitute. _A tom._

_Here's your money._

_Get dressed._

_Leave._

Rose exited Sherlock's bedroom, her heavy bag of books slung over her shoulder. Sherlock was sitting at his living room table, still clad in his pyjamas, typing on a laptop.

With trepidation Rose spoke, "I guess I'll see you next week?"

"I'll text you if I require your services again," Sherlock replied impassively, staring at his screen and typing a little.

Rose's stomach dropped further. "Sherlock..."

"Pull the door shut quite firmly on your way out. It tends to stick a bit in this weather," he added, still peering at the screen.

Rose strode across the living room, unlatched the door, and left through it, slamming it along the way.


	10. Chapter 10: You're Dead to Me

**A/N: **I'm not usually one to rewrite huge slabs of dialogue from the TV episodes, however I have placed a small portion of dialogue in this chapter to help weave my narrative around it... especially the end bit. Had a bit of a giggle about that one.

* * *

**Chapter 10: You're Dead to Me**

"She had your email address on her. Just wanted to check if she was a client of yours?" Lestrade's voice continued in Sherlock's ear.

But his head was buzzing. His hand trembled as he held the phone out.

_Rose?_

It had been two weeks since their last liaison. He hadn't texted her for another appointment. Couldn't stomach it. Sherlock had to be the best at everything he tried. If he was going to be having sex regularly, then he had to be good at it. No, not just good, excellent. And he'd learnt through those first conversations with Rose that to be any kind of great lover you had to more than satisfy your sexual partner.

Rose had indicated that she'd found his efforts sickening, repulsive. Of course your heart rate can go up if you're also stressed at being placed in an uncomfortable situation. He was stupid.

_Stupid, stupid._

To think he could get Rose aroused. She wasn't trembling with desire, but cringing in disgust.

He'd had a few quick wanks in the shower thinking about Rose. But he wasn't ever going to touch her again.

And now this.

This call from Lestrade. Straight off the back at having been made even more of a public figure. Another two presentation ceremonies - rewarded for helping the kidnapped banker to escape his captors, and netting interpol's most wanted in one fell swoop.

Sherlock had been hiding out in his flat. John had been chastising him for getting in the papers again.

"You're this far from famous," he'd said. "Find yourself a little case this week?"

Is this a little case? Identifying the body of a murdered prostitute? The murderer had already been caught. Nothing really for Sherlock to do, but go to the mortuary and confirm whether or not it was Rose.

Lestrade had said there was an inconsistency as to her identity. Some said Rose, others said Shelley.

There was only one Rose/Shelley who was a prostitute as far as Sherlock was concerned. Did she end up on the streets because she no longer had Sherlock's income? Did Mark kick her out because he'd found out she had been seeing a client away from the brothel?

With a sickening feeling, Sherlock slowly wound his scarf around his neck. John had left for work. Today would normally have been his appointment with Rose had he made one. A morning round of sex. Now he was going to see her again, for one last time.

It was an odd feeling really. Sherlock sat pensively in the back of the taxi as it wound through the streets, taking him to St. Bart's hospital, and to Rose.

It's not like he loved her, or felt any emotional attachment toward her. He'd missed the sex, obviously; the conversation, yes. Her familiarity? He'd become comfortable with her. Was that an emotional attachment? How would he feel when Molly wheeled out her corpse? He'd seen a multitude of dead, naked women before. Would he scrutinise her features? Examine her skin, fingernails, bruising around her neck - for she had been strangled, Lestrade informed him. Strangled during sex in the back seat of the perp's car. The perp got off on that. That was his thing according to the other toms on the street. Asphyxiation. He'd gone too far on this occasion and hadn't released the grip on his tie in time. How much money had Rose negotiated for that?

Sherlock's eyes stung, and a lump came to his throat.

_What just happened then?_

Sherlock paid the fare, ignoring his unconscious physiological reaction and disembarked from the taxi. He strode the familiar corridors of the hospital and made his way to the mortuary to meet the D.I. and Molly, the lab technician. He felt as though he needed a cigarette.

"Right, well there was no I.D. in her possessions," Lestrade began. "But was she a client of yours, this Shelley?"

"Rose," Sherlock corrected him as Molly rolled out the table.

"Uh, yes. Shelley was her real name according to some. She preferred to go by 'Rose' when working though. No I.D. so no address. Had a slip of paper in her handbag with your email address on it though."

_Other way round,_ thought Sherlock. _Rose, not Shelley._

Molly unzipped the body bag and Sherlock took a sharp intake of breath.

_Not Rose._

_Not -_

_- Rose._

_This wasn't Rose!_

_Who was it?_

Sherlock's head spun. _Shelley! _Her real name was Shelley. She used 'Rose' as her alias, as her flatmate had done to her. As Sherlock had done to John.

_Not._

_Rose._

"Her name's Shelley," Sherlock stated, breathing out and stepping back from the body.

"We know," said Lestrade a little gruffly. "A client?"

"No. Potential client. Another...client had referred me. I can probably get a full I.D. from them, or you could try the brothel on Lyceum Street."

"The brothel on Lyceum Street? And you know this how?"

"My clients are wide and varied and completely confidential, Detective Inspector. She used to work there. And so if you're finished with me?"

Sherlock turned and left when Lestrade turned back to Molly and nodded thanks.

_Not Rose._

_Rose was alive!_

Sherlock looked down at his phone, and checked his messages. There was one message from a contact he had called "Psych Student" which read, _Nice hat! _. Rose had sent that two days ago after those dreadful, embarrassing photos had appeared in the papers as a result of the Ricoletti presentation ceremony. Those bastards at Scotland Yard had humiliated Sherlock with a gift of a deerstalker hat. An ear hat!

But Sherlock hadn't responded to Rose's message. He typed one now: _Contact me re: case, not appointment!_

Sherlock grabbed a cab back to Baker Street. He looked at his watch. It was after eleven. Rose was probably in a lecture. She would only check her phone an hour before an appointment (which he didn't have), or intermittently throughout the day, she'd said - probably to keep in contact with Mark regarding her schedule at Lyceum Street.

When she finally rang at around four, Sherlock tried to surreptitiously hasten to his bedroom in order to answer the call. John was lounging in the living room, reading the paper.

"What case?" was all she said, breathlessly, when he answered. It sounded as if she was walking around the campus or to the tube, possibly.

"We should meet somewhere. I shouldn't discuss it over the phone."

"What, why? Is this a..." she paused, whispering the last two words, "...sex thing?"

"What? No! Of course not. Look, where are you? I'll meet you. At university?"

There was a moment's silence as Rose considered her options. "I'll meet you somewhere public. I don't think I should meet you anywhere I frequent in my personal life. That's too stalker-ish."

"You think I'm going to stalk you?" Sherlock asked, immediately taking offence.

"I don't know. Why do you want to meet me? I thought you were done with me."

"This has nothing to do with that."

"Oh..." Rose thought. "A case? Has this got to do with my psychology paper? Because I'm not writing that one anymore."

"No, it's not."

"Then what? We've only ever interacted with...those two things. Psychology and...", she lowered her voice again, "...sex."

"I can't say...social customs dictate this isn't the type of news you deliver over the telephone."

"Social customs? News? ...oh God! Oh...Jesus...what are you saying? A case? ...oh my God... the...the unidentified prostitute that was murdered...the story in the paper. Is that what this is about? Oh Sherlock! Fucking hell." Rosie's voice was fraught with emotion now. "Thank you," she choked.

Then she hung up.

She'd made the connection, Sherlock thought. All her fears about her flatmate had been realized. Probably noticed she'd been missing, what was it now - 48 hours?

Should he ring her back?

_No._

_Not his place to._

He started to type a message for her: _Ring back. You need to identify the body._

Then he deleted it. Didn't sound quite appropriate.

Lestrade will work it out. Somebody would report Shelley missing even if Rose didn't.

_Not his problem._

Now, he had this two hundred year old mystery to solve. Henry Fishguard - a suicide or not? Where was his trusty mannequin? Time for a hanging.

He spent a day consulting his Bow Street Runners book and playing executioner's hangman, much to John's annoyance.

The next morning as Sherlock was peering into his microscope on the dining table, Henry Fishguard's doppelganger swaying in the living room, his phone buzzed from the table next to his armchair. He walked over to check it. A message from Pysch Student: _Shelley is dead. I guess you knew that. Have just identified her body. I'm moving back in with my parents. I guess this is goodbye then._

He hit delete, then put his phone back down.

It buzzed again. _Could we meet?_ it read.

He didn't reply, deleted that message too and placed his phone back down on the pile of books. There was no need to see Rose again. He went back to his microscope and tried to ignore the next two texts as they were probably from the Psych Student also. Perhaps he should rename the contact 'Psycho Student'?

John strolled in, fresh from the shower as Sherlock's phone buzzed once more.

"It's your phone," John stated.

"Mm, keeps doing that," Sherlock replied, not taking his eyes from the microscope. _I'm done with you Rose_, he thought. _We have nothing left to talk about._

* * *

Six weeks later Sherlock was holed up in his flat again. The Moriarty trial was in full swing, well perhaps not full swing - more like limp swing: the crown presenting Sherlock as their key witness, upon which he had been thrown in jail for contempt of court for most of yesterday, and then not permitted back in for the rest of the trial. And the rest of the trial was a joke. The defense was not calling any witnesses. As a result, this morning the verdict would be handed down.

Sherlock paced the room several times before taking to his couch once more. The ringing of his doorbell interrupted his thoughts. He listened as Mrs Hudson answered. _Probably somebody from the press again_, he thought. _Fucking annoying. I can't even leave the flat these days without being hounded by someone._

Not the press.

Rose.

"Hi!" she said, tentatively entering the room as Sherlock sat up again and glared at her. "Just thought I'd see how you were. I called round several times but there were always photographers outside, or you just didn't answer the doorbell."

"I didn't make an appointment," Sherlock stated simply.

"I know. You've been busy. I've been reading about it in the papers. The verdict is being handed down today, yeah?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her. He wasn't in the mood. "What do you want?"

"To see how you were."

"Why? You don't do anything unless there's something in it for you. Come to look at the Reichenbach Hero, have you?"

"I just thought, when this is all over you might like some relief again? An outlet for all your pent up energy, or a release from the stress of the trial?"

"For a tidy sum of one hundred and eighty pounds? Forget it. I don't carry that amount of cash on me any more. And besides, I thought you were living back with your parents?"

"Didn't work out. I've got a new flatmate, in a dismal, shitty flat really. Still tough to make ends meet though. I'm not at Mark's anymore. He kicked me out for trying to steal one of his clients."

Sherlock shrugged and raised his eyebrows in a 'not my problem' kind of gesture.

"Can't I ... apologise or something?"

"Apologise for what?"

"I know I offended you the last time. And I wasn't referring to you at all."

"And to whom were you referring?"

"The others."

"And your apology will take the form of...?"

"Whatever you like."

"I'm really not in the mood."

"I'll put you in the mood."

"The verdict will be handed down any minute now."

"And then you can celebrate with me."

"Commiserate, more likely."

"How do you know?"

"Because I can read it like it's all written out before me."

Sherlock sat back and stretched his legs out along the couch. He closed his eyes. Rose perched herself on the side of the coffee table.

"Just let me..." she said, resting her hand lightly on Sherlock's thigh.

Sherlock opened one eye. "What?"

"Take your mind off it for a minute or two."

Sherlock opened both eyes. "I told you I don't have any cash on me."

"An apology, and a gesture of goodwill."

He thought for a moment. It would be good to take his mind off this whole business - for a minute or two. "Gesture away," he said, closing his eyes again. "But be quick and then leave."

Rose unzipped Sherlock's trousers as she asked, "How can you read what the verdict is going to be?"

Sherlock opened his eyes again. "It will start with the judge's recommendation," he whispered, as Rose's hand set to work.

"Which will be what?" Rose whispered, her hand finding a good rhythm, as she felt Sherlock's arousal growing.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Sherlock began, "James Moriarty stands accused of several counts of attempted burglary, crimes which, if he is found guilty, might elicit a very strong custodial sentence, and yet his legal team has chosen to offer no evidence whatsoever to support their plea.."

Rose listened intently as she continued masturbating him.

Sherlock continued, "I find myself in the unusual position of recommending a verdict wholeheartedly. You must find him guilty."

He closed his eyes as Rose bent down and took Sherlock in her mouth. "Guilty," he whispered.

He kept his eyes closed, the case almost gone from his mind as he tangled his hands in Rose's hair. _Just a few minutes, _he thought._ Just a few minutes. Oh, Rose._ His breathing grew shallow and ragged. He moaned and caressed the back of Rose's neck. _So good..._ He had never let her finish him off so completely in this way before, and he wasn't going to stop her now. He'd forgotten about this. Forgotten over the last two months how wonderful the act of sex and Rose's sexual favours could be. With a final moan, he climaxed, waves of ecstacy flowing over him during which he gasped 'Rose'. As the waves turned to ripples and then finally just a slight tingling sensation he gently moved her away from him, opening his eyes once more.

Sherlock pulled his boxers up, zipped up his trousers and said one word, "Leave."

Sherlock closed his eyes again, still breathing deeply as he heard Rose straighten her clothes and pick up her bag. He listened to her footsteps descend the stairs and finally the sound of the front door opening and closing. As his breathing returned to normal, the silence in the flat was broken by the ringing of his phone. He opened his eyes and reached for it from where it had rested on the coffee table beside him.

"Not guilty," came John's voice. "They found him not guilty. No defence and Moriarty's walked free."

* * *

**A/N:** Now go watch that scene again. Rose is just off camera. Go see!


	11. Chapter 11: Challenge No 3

**Chapter 11: Challenge #3**

He made the appointment three weeks after the verdict and Moriarty's visit. He'd waited. Waited for something to happen - for Moriarty to show his hand; for unseen gunmen to focus their laser pointers at his chest; for bombs to explode around him, room by room. But - nothing.

And life almost went back to normal in Baker Street.

One morning Sherlock lay back thinking about Rose. And sex. She had texted him two weeks ago, the week after her pre-verdict head job. Her message simply stated "I'm available."

_Available._

_Available to be booked in._

_Haircut at one, teeth cleaned at two, fucked by a prostitute at three._

And he thought, well he did enjoy it. Perhaps he'd enjoyed the challenges he'd set himself a bit more though. How to progress this? His next challenge, therefore, was to negotiate with Rose how he could practise being a more effective sexual partner. And that required her full cooperation. He couldn't go about this by stealth, because they'd end up in stops and starts as they'd had been: Rose becoming aroused, freaking out when she realised this, then Sherlock having to talk her round. That would become very tiresome, very quickly.

Rose had apologised during that last very brief encounter, although Sherlock wasn't completely naive as to believe that she wasn't just saying that in order to win back his custom. But also, egotistically, he couldn't fully believe that he was that hopeless or repulsive in the sack.

So, step one: contact Rose. Step two: negotiate a new set of boundaries. Step three: fuck.

Rose had agreed to meet Sherlock in a coffee shop, neutral ground, so that she wouldn't feel he was bullying her in any way. This was a negotiation meeting, not an appointment. Sherlock would only have to pay for the coffee, or tea. No biscuits.

"I'm not sure what we're negotiating," Rose started.

"A new set of boundaries, as I mentioned on the phone."

"But why?"

"Things have changed between us."

Rose gulped her coffee down. How much had he noticed, she wondered. "Like what?"

Sherlock leant forward and lowered his voice, "Look, you know perfectly well that I'm trying to up my game here. So I would appreciate it if you'd not hold back. Just join in, and enjoy it. You might even have fun!"

"What?"

"Let yourself get aroused," he said, trying to keep his voice low.

Rose looked around, then she too, leant in and whispered, "I can't! It's not fair!"

"Why not? I've said before, you can't be successful in a job if you don't enjoy yourself. What's the big deal anyway?"

Rose looked at Sherlock, her face falling. She looked down as she said, "It's just that I'd rather save all that for someone special."

Sherlock looked back at her and noticed the way she was fiddling with her pendant. "Your boyfriend? I thought you didn't have one."

"What makes you think I have one now?"

"Pendant," was his simple answer.

"Well he's away, but he'll be back the week after next for two weeks."

"Armed forces."

"Yes."

"So he has a weapon of some description," Sherlock remarked.

Rose seemed to find this funny, much to Sherlock's bemusement.

"And what does he think about your part-time job?"

"He doesn't know. I don't work when he's in town."

"So you'll be unavailable for two weeks, starting the week after next?"

"That's right."

"And our arrangement?"

"I can't. I just simply can't."

"Then we have no arrangement," Sherlock stood up and adjusted his jacket. "Have a good life!" Then he bent down to Rose and whispered, "Have a cream puff on me."

"Sherlock!"

He stopped, and raised his eyebrows.

"Sit."

"Why?"

"You need to give me a minute. Stop thinking everybody can come to a decision as quickly as you. Those of us with some morals need time to reassess."

"What's to assess?" He sat down again. "It's a simple yes or no answer. Have sex with me and completely be yourself, or don't."

"But if I don't then you won't want to see me."

"Precisely. I don't want sex for the sake of sex. I want to learn something, challenge myself, become..."

"The best?"

"More skillful. And I'm just asking you to enjoy the physicality of it. I'm not asking for your hand in marriage. Save that for your boyfriend."

Rose started at the casual way Sherlock had mentioned marriage. Between her boyfriend and herself, that was the furthest thing from their mind. Just holding it together was their main challenge. Sherlock did have a point. Enjoy the physicality. There are no emotions involved when he put it like that. That's all Rose was concerned about really. And she had been almost enjoying that aspect of their encounters.

"Two hundred pounds," she said.

Sherlock's broad grin stated that the deal was struck, and so their first appointment was made for the very next morning - their usual time. The time when John was at work. Sherlock was impatient to get started, and Rose really needed the money.

When Rose entered the flat that morning, she felt extremely nervous. It was less like a job now, she thought. It was more like a first date, or losing her virginity.

Sherlock, on the other hand, was in his element. A challenge. An experiment. He was in control now. Although he noticed Rose was less chatty as she entered - tense.

"How do you want me?" she asked as they walked into Sherlock's bedroom. "Naked, robe, underwear?"

"Oh, just the same. Dressing gown, undergarments," he answered. "Or can I take those clothes off?" he asked, waving his hand at her.

"No. These are my clothes. I don't want you touching them." Then when Sherlock looked offended she added, "I need to dress for my work, so if you want to undress me, then I'll have to bring something to change into that you can take off. We don't start until I emerge from the bathroom anyway. I have other things to... take care of."

"Oh," Sherlock remarked, not fully understanding. _Sounds very inefficient._

Rose disappeared into the bathroom while Sherlock sat on the bed.

"That guy's disappeared, hey?" Rose called through the door.

"Guy?"

"The one on trial. The paper said he'd disappeared."

_Moriarty_, thought Sherlock. _Not the image I want to conjure up just before having sex._

"Can we talk about something else?" he called back.

There was silence for a moment, then Rose called out, "How's John?"

Sherlock sighed. "How about silence until you come out of there?"

Sherlock sat back feeling irritated and apprehensive. _Moriarty. What's he planning? I-O-U he had carved into that apple. Flying is just like falling. I detest riddles!_

"What are you thinking about?"

Rose was standing near the bed, watching him. He hadn't noticed her coming back in. She had already placed a couple of condom packets on the bedside table.

"Nothing."

"You were tapping your fingers on your knee, like you were annoyed about something. Look, if it's the clothing, I can bring some for next time, yeah? I just don't feel comf-"

"It's not the clothing. It's not you."

Sherlock got off the bed and stood up. He looked at Rose and smiled weakly. "Let's just start."

"What do you want me to do?" Rose whispered as Sherlock closed the gap between them.

"Whatever you feel like," he whispered back, putting his arms lightly on hers, and drawing her in to kiss her neck.

_Whatever I feel like. _Rose closed her eyes then put her arms around Sherlock's neck. _I feel like kissing you, when you do that. _She held him tighter, feeling his light kisses along her neck, feeling the goose bumps that were forming and the shiver run down her spine when he let his hand wander. _Whatever I feel like doing. I don't know. How can I relax?_

And in thinking how to relax, Rose was of course, not relaxed. Sherlock felt her tension and stopped what he was doing.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I...I don't know. Sorry. It's not you. It's...you know when people tell you to relax, you can't? Or calm down, when you're angry and it only makes you angrier?"

"Are you angry with me?"

"No, not... not angry. I just feel...lost. Like I can't do my job."

Sherlock sighed. "Do you want to start the way we normally do?"

Rose thought for a minute. "Why don't we just lie down and chat? You always make me feel relaxed when we talk."

"Do I?" Sherlock asked. "That's not what people normally say."

Rose gave him an encouraging smile, then walked around to the other side of the bed and lay down, waiting for Sherlock. He climbed onto the bed, then lay down as Rose had. They both lay on their sides facing each other.

"Please don't ask about the trial, or John. Not my favourite pre-sex subjects."

Rose laughed. "Oh, you have favourite pre-sex subjects now?" When Sherlock frowned at her she continued, "What's your favourite pre-sex subject?"

Sherlock studied Rose's face for a moment, then whispered hoarsely, "You."

Without thinking, Rose reached out and stroked Sherlock's face. "That's sweet," she whispered.

She continued to caress his face as Sherlock closed his eyes. Rose leant closer and kissed his forehead, then continued kissing his face, pausing at his lips. _No, don't Rose. That's stepping over the line._

Sherlock interrupted her internal debate by rolling onto his back. He brought his hand up to encourage Rose to move over closer to him. He opened his eyes again as Rose leant in to kiss his neck. Sherlock let his hands wander over Rose's back, then around to the front of her dressing gown. He eased it open so he could slip his hand inside, gently caressing her cleavage, then along the outline of her breasts. Rose had slipped her hands underneath Sherlock's pyjama shirt. She pushed it up as she so she could kiss his chest and torso.

"Mmm," Sherlock murmured, his fingers finding Rose's dressing gown sash. He tugged at it impatiently.

Rose paused her attentions to Sherlock's torso, and sat up, helping Sherlock untangle the sash around her waist. As the dressing gown fell open, Sherlock half sat up too, pulling Rose in closer by slipping his hand inside the gown around to her back. He brought his lips to her chest, and began kissing her there as Rose let out a gasp. She surprised herself at this involuntary sound, and immediately felt self-conscious.

"Don't tense up again," Sherlock whispered. And he lay back down, taking in the vision of Rose sitting next to him with her gown open.

"I'm sorry," Rose whispered, slipping the gown from her shoulders as Sherlock watched. "Here, take your shirt off," Rose said encouragingly.

Sherlock sat up, and pulled his shirt over his head. Rose pushed him down again, then sat up on her knees, moving over to straddle Sherlock. She caressed his chest again, then bent down to kiss him there using more of her tongue this time. She paused on each nipple as Sherlock moaned and wound his hands into Rose's hair. Then he slid his hands down her neck to her back and with the swift movements of the expert he now was, he unclasped her bra. Rose sat back so that Sherlock could slide his hands up to her shoulders, and down her arms, bringing the bra straps with them. Rose discarded the bra as she again kissed along Sherlock's torso.

"Take these off," he murmured, shoving his thumbs inside his pyjama waistband.

Rose climbed off him as he pulled his pyjama pants down and threw them onto the floor.

_Of course he's fully aroused these days,_ Rose thought, slightly proud of her achievement at getting Sherlock to this stage, reflecting on his demeanour during those first few visits so long ago.

Sherlock sat up and put his hands lightly on Rose. He said softly, "Lie down."

And as she did, Sherlock was already upon, her - kissing along her neck again, then slowly working his way down her chest, until he reached her breasts. He gently teased her nipples with his tongue as Rose moaned, not caring that she was now so vocal. She noticed one of his hands lightly gliding down her midriff as he worked her breasts with his mouth. His hand slid inside her knickers and between her legs. Rose gasped, and whispered, "Sherlock!"

This only encouraged him more, and he began kissing down her torso to her navel and below. His hands then grasped the elastic of her underwear and he began edging them down.

"Off," he whispered as Rose lifted her hips, helping Sherlock to discard her knickers.

He then continued kissing her there, with Rose panicking, _What's he going to do?_

But he seemed to know what to do as Rose groaned and grabbed his hair. _Oh my God, oh my God!_ she breathed. She grabbed the pillow above her head and arched her back as Sherlock showed her his new found skills with his tongue. _Love my job,_ thought Rose. _Just today. Just ... oh ...my sweet Lord..._

And then he stopped, and was coming back up.

"Condom," he whispered.

"Now?" Rose asked feebly.

But Sherlock had already stretched over to the bedside table and passed Rose the packet.

"Is that okay? Are you all right?" he asked, his words tumbling out as Rose breathlessly ripped the packet open.

"I'm doing really well," she replied, looking up at him with a shy smile. "You're a very good student."

Sherlock beamed as lay on his side giving Rose access to roll the condom onto his erection.

"Try this way," Rose suggested. She lay on her side with her back to Sherlock, bending one leg forward.

"Um..." he hesitated. "I thought no.. anal..?"

"No! God no! You can enter from behind. Not... there...look," and she leant back into Sherlock and guided him with her hand.

"Oh..." Sherlock sighed. _Awkward angle,_ he thought, thrusting slightly.

"Mmmm," Rose murmured. "You can do... this," she reached back and grabbed Sherlock's hand, bringing it around her and between her legs. "Just there," she sighed. Sherlock worked his hand as he thrust inside her.

After a minute or two, Sherlock pulled out.

"No, can't do it," he muttered. "My legs hurt."

"Okay, that's fine," Rose said softly, her head still buzzing, not to mention everywhere else.

She rolled onto her back as Sherlock organised himself on top of her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Rose lifted her hips, and put her arms around Sherlock, pulling him down to her, "Keep going, don't stop."

She cradled him between her legs and Sherlock moaned as he re-entered her.

"Sherlock," Rose murmured as she found her hands wandering through his dark curls again. She liked this, being able to sigh his name. Let herself go. Hold him to her.

"Rose," he gasped into her neck, sending further shivers throughout her body.

Rose angled her hips so she could feel Sherlock against her, but it wasn't enough. Sherlock was already moaning and had increased his rhythm, before Rose was even close. She knew it would end too soon.

Sherlock clung to her as he gasped her name once more, then gently rocked into her, riding out the waves of his orgasm. He collapsed on top of her, and she held him tightly, wanting to feel him breathing heavily against her.

"Rose," he said, rising himself up onto his elbows. "You didn't?"

"I didn't finish. It's okay! It's hard to get the timing right."

"But, you're not...I should do something."

"No, just lie back... enjoy the moment," she said, lightly pushing against Sherlock's chest so he would roll off her.

He rolled to his side, then put his arm around her waist. "Let me use my hand, or my tongue, or something."

"Not now.. no. It's... it's finished. Just lie back. Next time, okay? We'll try again then. It's fine, Sherlock. Even boyfriends of mine can't get the timing right."

Sherlock lay flat on his back, one hand on his chest as he continued to breathe heavily.

"But I'm not just anyone," he muttered sullenly.

Rose looked over at him. He really is competitive!

She watched his chest rising and falling. She wanted to reach out and hold his hand, but that seemed too intimate. After a minute or two he turned his head, noticing Rose watching him. She smiled.

"You were good," she said.

"Was I?" he was surprised.

"Mmm," she answered, feeling very relaxed - almost sleepy.

He looked at her suspiciously. "You're not just saying that... as a part of your.." he waved his hand, "...act?"

Rose gave Sherlock a stern look. "I've respected your wishes to not bullshit you. I'm not going to start now!"

"Oh," Sherlock replied, looking away from Rose. "Good."

Then he sat up and swung his legs off the bed. "I'm going to clean up."

Rose watched him leave, then got off the bed herself. She found her robe and wrapped it around herself and made her way into the kitchen. When Sherlock emerged from the bathroom, he found the bed empty and heard the sound of tinkling cups and saucers in the kitchen.

_Tea time, _he thought.

He walked through the kitchen as Rose looked up and smiled at him. "Take a seat," she said, "I'll just be a minute. Did you want biscuits?"

"No, John ate them all," Sherlock replied, walking over to the living room and sitting down in his armchair. It felt a bit odd playing guest in his own flat.

He looked over at Rose. He'd almost given her an orgasm. Almost. Then he concentrated on his own enjoyment. _That's what she was talking about. Being a good lover. How well you pleasure you sexual partner. Dammit. _He'd been that close.

Rose brought the tea over, then sat down in John's armchair.

"We should have a toast!" she said.

"With tea?"

"Well, it's too early for champagne. But we need to toast to our first real sexual encounter."

Rose raised her tea cup and sipped it.

"Real," Sherlock repeated. "Was that as real as it gets for you?"

Rose put her cup down. "Very close. There's only one thing missing, and you can't have that."

"What?" asked Sherlock, poised for a bombshell.

"My kisses. On the lips. You can't have that."

"Oh. I know that."

"But apart from that," Rose began, "You'll be just about ready to conquer the world."

"Conquer?"

"The world of women. Dating."

"Uh. No. That's still not going to happen. There's all this..." he winced, "Other stuff that goes with dating. I'm not going to bother with all that."

Rose laughed. "You and most other guys. So how's John?"

"Why do you keep asking about John?"

"I like John. He's nice. I'm sure he'd be very generous too."

"I've already told you several times that he wouldn't be interested. He's after a wife, and a house with a picket fence. Not a call girl who puts a meter on her company."

"Well, I can be anything he wants me to be. Where's his room anyway? Or do you share?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "We're not in a relationship. His bedroom is upstairs, and no, you can't go and look at it and roll around his bed like some pyscho stalker chick."

Rose laughed again, standing up. "Does he take girlfriends up there? Do you hear them sometimes?"

"Not answering," Sherlock replied. "On the grounds that this conversation is boring me."

Sherlock continued sipping his tea as Rose wandered around the room, looking at Sherlock's collections.

"Oh! I saw this in the paper!" she remarked, picking up Sherlock's deerstalker hat from its pride of place - dumped on the floor. She put it on. "Ah!" she said, giggling and looking at herself in the mirror about the fireplace.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Take if off. It's ridiculous."

"It's cute! Especially when you wear it - here." She moved over to Sherlock's chair, holding out the hat.

"No!" Sherlock called, standing up and dodging Rose's outstretched hand.

"Oh," Rose pouted, returning the hat to her own head. "I'll wear it then. Do you want me to wear it to bed?"

"No! Are you insane?"

"Why not? Completely naked, except for this." She turned to look into the mirror again.

"No. Take it off. You remind me of someone repulsive."

"Excuse me?"

Sherlock strolled over to Rose as she skipped over to the coffee table. "Nope," she said mischievously. "Tell me who's so repulsive wearing your hat?"

"A journalist, disguising as a fan. Not my hat. She bought her own. Here..."

Sherlock held out his hand to retrieve the hat, but Rose stepped up onto the coffee table, laughing. "A journalist!"

"Take it off Rose!" Sherlock said irritably, walking up to the coffee table.

"Nope!" she teased, stepping back onto the couch.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her, then stepped up onto the coffee table and onto the couch. Rose took the hat off her head and held it out behind her. Sherlock grabbed Rose by the robe and pulled him close to her. He reached up and grabbed the hat out of her hand, and threw it to the ground.

"Why are you doing this," he asked, his face only inches from hers.

"Because it's funny," she whispered, gazing into his cold, piercing grey eyes.

Sherlock looked into Rose's eyes, then he glanced at her slightly parted lips. His eyes returned to hers again as he closed the gap between them by just a centimetre. Rose moved her head back minutely.

"No," she whispered.

"What?" he asked, his voice deepening.

"No kissing," she stated.

Sherlock's face hardened as turned and stepped off the couch. "No hat wearing!" he exclaimed and stalked back to his armchair. "Drink your tea, it's going cold."

Rose lightly stepped off the couch and returned to her chair.

"What should we talk about now?" she asked, politely as if nothing had happened.

"Your boyfriend," Sherlock stated.

"What about him?"

"How would he feel if he found out about your job?"

"Murderous," Rose said matter-of-factly.

"To you or me?"

"Both."

"A murdered prostitute and her client. Straightforward case. Bit obvious," Sherlock muttered, but then he caught himself as he took in the look of Rose's face.

She was looking down at the fireplace, trying not to cry. _Damn Shelley, _Rose thought.

"Rose," Sherlock said softly.

Rose quickly wiped her eyes. "I'm okay. I spent a whole week crying continuously about Shelley. I couldn't even tell my parents why I was so upset about moving out of our flat. Now my mum thinks I was in a lesbian relationship with her and we broke up." She tried to laugh.

She stood up. "Tea time's over."

Rose walked over to Sherlock as he put his cup down on a side table. She turned and sat back into his lap and he moved to accommodate her. "Let me show you something," she whispered, settling in with her back resting against Sherlock's right side. She grabbed his right hand, and placed it between her legs. "Now just gently..." she guided Sherlock's finger tips and began massaging herself with them.

She leant her head back into his shoulder and said, "You're going to do that until I come. Okay?"

"Mmm," Sherlock murmured, agreeing, but becoming only too aware of his own arousal growing.

He slid his left hand into Rose's gown to her breasts, caressing her there too, as she raised her arm and reached around to the nape of his neck.

Sherlock breathed lightly against Rose's neck, cooling her and sending shivers along her skin, her body already alight in response to Sherlock's rhythmic handiwork. And Sherlock didn't need to feel Rose's pulse of check her pupils. Her arousal was obvious. She was moving her body along with his hands, and sighing as well as winding her fingers through the back of his hair.

"Sherlock," she whispered softly. She turned her head and lightly kissed his neck. He thought he could just turn his head and she'd be kissing him. He did't know why he just had to kiss her. _Why would that make a difference? _he thought.

Rose brought her hand down and raked it along Sherlock's pyjama'd thigh.

"Faster," she whispered, then she moaned. "Oh God... Sherlock..."

Her hand found the bulge in Sherlock's pyjamas. He longed for her to touch him there. Her writhing body was such a turn on for him. And there it was! The answer to Rose's second ever question to him, "What turns you on?"

_You, Rose. You do._

Rose rubbed her hand against him, but it was a feeble attempt for she was already caught up in her own climax. It hit her hard, and she removed her hand and once again it found the back of Sherlock's head. She grabbed him there as she gasped his name and rocked along with his hand, her orgasm petering out to a gentle throbbing.

She kissed his neck as she turned and cuddled into him. "Thank you," she whispered.

But that just left Sherlock with his own hard on.

He held her tightly as she nestled into his neck, kissing him again there. _I'll just turn my head_, he thought. _Kiss her. She won't mind now. Kiss her!_

But he couldn't. That would betray her trust. That was the one last thing she had.

So he held her still, until he felt her moving off him.

"Come on," she said weakly, standing up and re-wrapping her dressing gown around her. "Let's go finish you off."

Sherlock held Rose's hand as she led him back to his bedroom.

And Rose gave him the full apology, being sorry for having him miss out on the armchair session.


	12. Chapter 12: Goodbye Sherlock

**Chapter 12: Goodbye Sherlock**

"I've just had the most odd encounter," John remarked, striding into the living room, upon finishing work for the day.

"Don't tell me, you were kidnapped by one of Mycroft's sexy assistants and ravished in the back of a black unmarked government vehicle," Sherlock deadpanned, not looking up from his laptop.

"Er...not actually far from the mark," John stated.

"What?" Sherlock asked, a note of incredulity in his voice as he shut his laptop lid.

"That young woman...that student...Shelley. Remember? She was writing a paper about your cases."

Sherlock tensed. "What did she want?"

"I think she was asking me to give her money to go on a date with her."

John's words circled around Sherlock's head, not really making sense.

"What?" he said again.

"Shelley, that psychology student. She was downstairs...just passing, she said. Did she come up here?"

"No," Sherlock stated emphatically. It had been three weeks since he'd given Rose an orgasm. The following week he had to travel to Cornwall for a small case and hadn't booked Rose in for another appointment that week. There wasn't any other suitable day when John was out of the flat. Then she'd said her boyfriend was in town for two weeks, so he hadn't even bothered contacting her. He was toying with the idea of texting her in a couple of days, but now this.

"Oh, well, she was making small talk, implying we should go out for a drink sometime, then hit me up for fifty quid."

"To go out with her?" Sherlock asked slowly.

"No, I think she wanted to borrow it, but then it was heavily implied that we could have more than just drinks as a result."

"Did you give her the money?"

"No, I don't have any cash on me...not that I would have," John hastily added.

"Then what did she do?"

"She said we should all go out some time - the three of us - meaning you as well, and left it at that. Has she been in contact with you since she was last here?"

"No," Sherlock replied, opening his laptop lid again. He was seething.

"Mmm," John remarked pensively. "Just be wary of her if she does."

John left to retire to his room as Sherlock pulled his phone out of his pocket. He sent a message to Rose which read, "Need to talk. NOT an appointment. Usual day & time. Baker St or a coffee shop of your choice."

Then he left it. He received a reply two hours later. "Baker St" it said.

* * *

Sherlock was surprised by Rose's appearance when he answered the door that morning. Her face was unusually pale and thin. Her eyes were red, as if she'd been crying.

"Why isn't this an appointment?" she asked as soon as she was inside.

"Upstairs," Sherlock hissed, then he ascended the stairs rapidly, with Rose struggling to keep up behind him.

He stood at his living room door, waiting for Rose to enter, then he shut it behind her.

"Why were you propositioning John?" he began, his voice struggling to remain even.

"What? Is that what this is about? Well, that's none of your business! What I do in my own time has nothing to do with you!"

"We had an agreement!"

"No we didn't. You said not to flirt with him! Those were your words. I said I was going to proposition him, and you didn't voice any objection only to say he wouldn't be interested. Well, you're wrong!"

Sherlock looked at Rose for a moment, his anger mounting. "Get out," he commanded, opening the door again for Rose.

"What?"

"You heard me. Out. And don't ever come back. I won't be needing you again."

"What? Sherlock," Rose was bewildered. She moved toward him, and reached up for his jacket. "This won't affect us, I promise!"

Sherlock grabbed her hands and pushed them off him. "You're wildly disillusioned if you think I'm going to allow you back into my bed again."

"Why?"

"I thought you had morals? He's my flatmate! How can we fuck the same woman?"

"I'm a prostitute," Rose said in a small voice.

"Yes, you are." Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her.

"So I'm not an emotional entanglement. I wouldn't be for either of you. Just a service! Like your dry-cleaner, or ordering in. You don't have any objection to sharing those do you?"

"What planet are you from?" Sherlock asked, wondering where all this was coming from.

"Sherlock, don't kick me out. Please!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes as Rose's eyes filled with tears. She continued, "My flatmate took off, leaving me with all the rent. I don't have any money. My boyfriend dumped me because he thought I was sleeping around."

Sherlock scoffed.

"Please, Sherlock!"

"Your tears and your problems don't mean anything to me. Go! Go home! Live with mummy and daddy. Surely you can cry to them for a handout." He leant in and whispered, "You're not my problem!"

He held the door, and raised his eyebrows at her, willing her to leave.

"How can you be so cruel? After everything we had?"

"Everything we've had? From memory, I had loads of sex and you had about eight hundred quid of my money. We don't owe each other anything. And don't worry, the cups of tea were free."

"I don't have anywhere to go! Why can't I just..." she looked around wildly, "stay here? You can have sex with me anytime you want! I'll do your ironing for you and..."

Sherlock thought she'd gone insane. "Rose! No! You don't know what you're saying! Are you listening to yourself? Go home!"

He stared at her so coldly that her own gaze faltered. She blinked away a couple of tears, turned and descended the stairs. With a sigh, Sherlock shut his door.

* * *

"Hello!"

Sherlock was confused. This was Rose again. She looked completely different. Her face was bright and cheery, her eyes clear, her hair was in a neat bun, and she wore a smart suit. This was two weeks later.

"Don't worry," she began with a laugh, "I'm not here to proposition you. I've come to say thank you and goodbye!"

"Oh?" Sherlock asked, puzzled.

"The thank you is for giving me a swift kick up my backside and sending me on my way. I went home with my tail between my legs to my parents' house. I was in the middle of exams, and my boyfriend had dumped me, my flatmate left. Well, you know. I whined to you about it. I was a mess, but everything's wonderful again! The thank you is also for my paper. I received a High Distinction thanks to you. It was all about you after all!"

"Your paper was all about me?"

"Yes!" she beamed. "Sexual arousal: visual stimulation and evolving experiences. A case study of a virgin."

"What?"

Rose laughed. "I didn't use your name, don't worry!"

"Oh God," Sherlock stated, looking worried.

Rose looked at him, her face softening. "And the goodbye is because I'm leaving... leaving London."

"Oh."

"I've got an internship in Cardiff. So... I may be a psychologist one day!"

"Oh. Good."

They regarded each other for a moment.

"So... goodbye, Sherlock."

Rose put her foot on the first step leading up to the doorway in order to give Sherlock a hug as he looked down at her, still feeling slightly confused at her state change. He didn't want her embrace in the street so he found himself saying, "Look, why don't you just come in for one last cup of tea."

She smiled. "Are you sure?"

"It's a cup of tea," he said. "And maybe even biscuits."

Rose followed Sherlock upstairs. _The last time I'll be here, _she thought.

"Cardiff?" Sherlock asked as he busied himself in the kitchen.

Rose removed her jacket, and placed her bag down on the coffee table.

"Yes. I've had an exemplary academic record every year. They're just waiting to snatch me up the minute I graduate."

"Exemplary?" Sherlock asked, turning around in surprise.

"I'm a little bit clever," Rose smirked.

Sherlock looked her up and down, his eyes narrowed.

"Yes, you can't really tell that when I'm lying underneath you, naked, can you?" she teased.

"I can't really tell that from your choice of part-time work, no."

He finished making the cups of tea and brought them over to the living room.

"We'll sit here," he said, indicating the couch.

"Oh, okay."

"Different circumstances, different setting, I think," Sherlock stated, putting the cups down on the coffee table.

They sat side by side on the couch as they sipped their tea.

"Psychologist?" Sherlock asked.

"Or therapist or social worker. I don't know. I could always work with ex-prostitutes, something like that," she smiled as she spoke. "Or people with sexual dysfunctions... what do you think?"

"As long as they didn't have to receive their therapy through having sex with you."

"No, I think I'll be saving up all my sexual encounters for myself from now on. This has been a very interesting chapter in my life," Rose mused.

"Mine too," Sherlock agreed.

"What will you do now? Will you ring around the escort agencies? There's a lot who do house calls."

"Uh, no. I think I've got all I needed to know from you. Back to masturbating."

"Oh, that's a shame! Think of all the women who are missing out on your talents!"

"I don't need that kind of headache."

"I'm sorry about John," Rose said, her face growing serious. "That was bad form."

"Yes, well he got over it fairly quickly."

"I was talking about you."

"I know you were desperate."

"We all do stupid things when we're desperate."

"Yes you do, don't you?"

Rose laughed. "So where is John?"

"Oh, buying groceries or he muttered something about getting cash out. Not to spend on prostitutes though."

Rose grinned. "I'm going to miss this. You know, you were the nicest client I ever had!"

Sherlock chuckled then said, "I think you were the nicest prostitute I've ever had. Although you had your off moments."

Rose felt a tad emotional, so she stood up, thinking now was a good time to leave.

"I should be going. I'm meeting up with some uni friends to celebrate. You know, you're now the only person in the whole world who knows about both sides of me."

"I thought Mark did?" Sherlock said, standing up.

"No, you assumed wrong, and I didn't correct you. I don't know Mark from university. I only learnt about him through Shelley. She was the only one who knew me as a sex worker and a student."

Rose picked up her bag and jacket from the coffee table, and moved over to the living room door.

"So you'll have to kill me in order to keep your secret?" Sherlock joked.

"I'm fairly confident my secret is safe with you."

Sherlock strolled over to her, his hands in his pockets.

"Goodbye Sherlock," Rose said, her eyes stinging.

She moved over to him and kissed him on the cheek. When he looked down at her, she dropped her belongings and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer for a hug. Sherlock took his arms out of his pockets and hugged back.

"Thank you," she whispered, holding him tightly. "Take care of yourself."

"I hope Cardiff treats you kindly," Sherlock replied softly.

He rubbed her back gently as he heard her sniffing. She didn't let go. She turned her head and kissed his neck, holding her lips there for a moment longer. When Sherlock pulled back Rose lifted her hand to his face and kissed him on the cheek again. She held his face as he looked down at her.

She whispered, "The orgasm I had with you was the last one I had."

Sherlock smiled weakly. He turned his head, and kissed her briefly on the cheek. "Goodbye Rose," he whispered.

Rose wrapped her arms tightly around Sherlock's neck again as he drew her closer. He kissed her neck, once, then twice, one hand on the nape of her neck, then she tangled her hands in his hair, and kissed him again on the neck.

_Don't go yet,_ he thought.

They pulled apart slightly and Rose sniffed again, then ran her hands down Sherlock's shirt as he looked at her curiously. He slid his hands down her back and whispered again, "Goodbye Rose."

"Goodbye Sherlock," she replied, looking at his shirt.

He kissed her cheek, then her ear, then along her neck once more, as Rose clutched Sherlock's shirt.

_Let me stay a bit longer, _she thought.

She brought her hands up to his face, redirecting his kiss to her lips. Soft and warm and inviting, Sherlock found them. His tongue copied hers, exploring her, tasting her, their mouths opening wider, deepening their kiss.

_This is why it's such a big deal_, Sherlock thought. He need to possess all of her now. This was the last barrier, this is what she was saving for someone special.

Rose was unbuttoning a couple of buttons on Sherlock's shirt as they kissed. He hadn't realised this until her hands were inside it and caressing his chest.

Rose stopped kissing Sherlock long enough to say, "Let's take this to the bedroom?"

"I can't pay," he said, pulling her back in, kissing her again. He didn't want to stop this. He would've paid two hundred pounds for a kiss, had he known.

Rose pulled back. "It's not an appointment," she said, "This is goodbye!"

She picked up her bag and jacket and pulled Sherlock by the hand, leading him to his bedroom for the last time.

Sherlock shut his door, then drew Rose in again. He couldn't get enough of her kisses. She backed them up toward the bed, then Sherlock gently lowered Rose onto it, climbing on top of her. They each tried to unbutton each other's shirts, while keeping their lips locked, til Rose smiled, breaking them apart. They both sat up, their hands getting in each other's way as they still tried to undress the other. Sherlock's fingers seemed more nimble than Rose's, opening her shirt while she was still unbuttoning Sherlock's. And his were half undone already from her efforts in the living room. They both threw their shirts off the bed, then decided it was quicker to remove their own bottom halves.

Both completely naked, they resumed their kissing, but now also able to caress each other's bodies. Sherlock was already hard, but didn't want to start anything until he had Rose begging for it. He left off kissing her, and began his slow descent, listening to her moan, his excitement increasing as she gasped his name. He wanted her on almost over the edge, before he would enter her.

"Tell me when you're ready," he whispered. _Talking. Talking was good. Did people do that?_ he thought.

Rose caressed Sherlock's hair. _I'm going to miss you,_ she thought. _Especially now that you're so...attentive._ She let Sherlock do his thing, wondering where he had done his homework and feeling slightly jealous that he had found somebody else.

She was getting closer now. _Just a bit longer. _She moaned, and gently ran her fingers along the side of Sherlock's face. Those cheekbones, brushing against her inner thighs. _Oh dear God!_

"Sherlock!" she gasped.

"Now?" he murmured.

"Oh...yes...oh...no!"

"What?"

"Condom...wait!"

Sherlock moved aside as Rose leant over the bed able to reach her bag on the floor nearby. She rifled through it fervently as Sherlock moved up, and embraced her from behind, his body hard against hers. One hand stole down to continue what he'd started with his tongue, as Rose moaned again.

_Good man,_ she thought.

She'd retrieved a packet now, but lay back into Sherlock, enjoying his rhythm again.

"Now Sherlock," she whispered again.

Sherlock moved aside from her as she turned around and rolled the condom onto him. _I have to get this right, _he thought. _Get the timing just perfect._

He entered her, emitting a deep sigh of satisfaction. Rose moved with him, murmuring his name. _How different this is,_ he thought, _now that she's saying my name with some meaning behind it._

He rested up on his elbows and he continued his rhythm. He looked into her eyes. _Pupils dilated, he thought with smugness._

"Kiss me," she whispered, looking at him with longing.

Sherlock smiled at her and bent his head. Rose embraced him tightly, encouraging Sherlock to move faster.

"Roll over!" she eventually commanded him, and they continued what Sherlock used to call "Phase Two", with Rose using her own hand on herself, until she came, calling his name, just before Sherlock's climax. He pulled her down on top of him, holding her there, to ride out the waves of his orgasm, with her as close as possible.

They both stopped together, breathing deeply, Rose still locked in Sherlock's embrace. She blinked back tears as she listened to his heart beat.

"I'm not sure how many times I can say goodbye," Sherlock said breathlessly. "You just don't take the hint and leave."

Rose laughed, and raised her head. "I'm thinking two hundred and fifty pounds."

"Oh, my hourly rate is much higher than that," Sherlock replied, smirking.

Rose smiled back at him, then put her head back down on Sherlock's chest.

"Actually you do need to leave," Sherlock said softly. "John could be back at any moment, and please don't say you'll do him too."

Rose slowly sat up and moved off him. "I'm no longer a sex worker," she said, more to herself than to Sherlock.

Sherlock sat up and swung his legs off the bed. "Just going to clean up. You?"

"I'll use the bathroom after you."

Sherlock left Rose as he entered his bathroom. Rose rummaged in her bag for her phone, checking for messages. _Oh good,_ she thought as she read a couple. _Everyone will be at the pub for lunch. Today is turning out to be a wonderful last day in London._

Sherlock re-emerged holding his dressing gown just as a male voice called from the landing.

"Sherlock! Sherlock? You up?"

"Lestrade," he muttered, recognising the D.I's voice. "Stay here," he instructed Rose. "It's a detective from the Yard. I'll chase him away. Mrs Hudson must have let him up."

Sherlock wrapped his dressing gown around himself and padding through to his living room and unlocked his living room door.

"Sorry to interrupt your sleep in," D.I. Lestrade said as he eyed Sherlock's attire. "Your downstairs door was wide open."

Behind him was Sherlock's favourite Sergeant, Sally Donovan.

"Oh, Mrs Hudson must be getting some work done downstairs again. Case?"

"We've got a fairly urgent one. Kidnapping."

"Not another banker, Lestrade? I received enough criticism rescuing the last one!"

"No, and this will make you popular. Two children. Kidnapped from a boarding school in Surrey."

"Come in," Sherlock sighed. "I'll just get dressed."

He left the detectives in his living room.

Donovan looked at Lestrade and rolled her eyes.

Rose was almost dressed when Sherlock re-entered his room.

"It's a case. I have to go," he said in a low voice, looking around for his clothes.

"Oh, well, I have to be off anyway."

"Where's my...?" Sherlock muttered. He'd only found his boxers.

"You sort of flung everything that way," Rose said, smiling and indicating the far side of the room.

Sherlock stepped into his trousers as Rose twisted her hair up into a bun. Now she was fully dressed.

"Well," she began. "I guess this is the real goodbye."

"Oh, you can't go yet," Sherlock said in a hushed voice, as he shook out his shirt. "They're in the living room. You'll have to wait til we leave. That okay?"

"That's fine. Probably a bit late in the piece to let everyone know you've been hiring a prostitute?"

Sherlock smiled wanly, as he buttoned up his shirt. "Boarding school," he muttered to himself, his mind turning to the case. He walked around to Rose.

"Thank you," he said and bent down kissing her on her cheek. "Just wait til we leave." Then he winked at her and was out the door.

As Sherlock entered the living room, Lestrade eyed him up and down and remarked, "Shoes may be necessary."

"Yes, thank you, Detective Inspector," Sherlock said as he sat in his armchair, retrieving his shoes from where he had kicked them off the night before.

"Right, well I'll give you the details now before we head on over to St Aldate's. The Ambassador to the U.S. has asked if we can get you in. So here we are. His children, Max and Claudette Bruhl..."

Rose listened in as she held Sherlock's door slightly ajar. _Oh, when are they leaving?_ she asked impatiently. She glanced at her watch. She was going to be late to meet her friends. _Fucking hell, hurry up police people._

She heard Sherlock ask a few questions, mutter something about checking the school website and the detectives talking. Pretty soon she heard another familiar voice - John!

_Oh God, now I can't leave until John does._ She sighed. John was asking questions now. Perhaps she should emerge from Sherlock's bedroom. _Hiya! Don't mind me. Just finished fucking Sherlock. Thought I'd weigh in. Missing children? Probably hiding in the dunnies smoking weed. No, no need to thank me. Can you all go now? Just want to tell Sherlock that I've fallen madly in l..._

_What? Rose get a grip!_

She listened at the door again. A male voice, probably the police officer, said "Isn't it great to be working with a celebrity!" and then... silence.

_Have they left?_

She listened some more, expecting to hear at least John moving about the flat. _Oh come on_, Rose thought.

On hearing nothing at all, she opened the door a tad more. Seeing nobody, she quickly exited Sherlock's room, looked nervously around the corner of the kitchen into the living room. Breathing easy, Rose walked over to the living room window. She looked down onto the street and saw Sherlock and John climbing into the back of a silver unmarked police car.

With a heavy heart she thought, _Goodbye Sherlock._

END OF PART ONE

o0O0o

* * *

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**Author's Lament: **Part Two after series 3? Perhaps. Depends on how the episodes run and if there's room for Rose somewhere. I mean, come on, if you're going to fake your own suicide and come back from the dead of course you're going to need a therapist? Who's with me?

Don't forget to follow, and of course REVIEW! I will just be over here in the corner, crying a little for Rose and Sherlock.  
In the meantime, don't forget my other fic: a Sherlock/OC romance/drama - soon to be posting Chapter 47 of _Copper Beeches_.


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